For a Good Time, Call: "Unkown Sender"

Sometimes, late a night, after I've been drinking, I go thru my SPAM folder.

I have developed a relationship with "unknown sender". Opening emails from "unknown sender" is exciting for me, like opening a message from an old friend who has only recently gotten back in touch. Where the hell have you been? What the hell have you been up to? Oh my God, it's been so long. Or, like a special new somebody looking for friendship and fun on MySpace, "Unknown Sender" serenades me with poorly constructed sentences filled with words "Unknown Sender" knows I like, because "Unknown Sender" has been reading what I've written:

"Regardless of how quiet he scary keeps helpful it, sail Bush art is promoting a national religion..."

"Unknown Sender" understands me, despite not being able to communicate very well in my language.

I've never hooked up in a gas station restroom, but I imagine it must feel like reading mail from "Unknown Sender". The reckless abandon. The excitement of not knowing exactly what's underneath the clothes in the dark: like taking a chance on the "One of Four Special Sexy Surprises" in the quarter-fed condom machine. I don't know where "Unknown Sender" has been and "Unknown Sender" could have been ANYWHERE. It's not safe. It's dangerous. It's against the rules. But it feels so good.