Dinner on Friday, courtesy of Loeffler Randall

There we were, 5:30 or so in the afternoon, a double-scoop of on-our-way-home, navy and black-clad DC professionals on the corner of ConnAve and M. The thick air was a bit warm for mid-May and my familiar concrete perch slightly more crowded, but for the most part, step one of my transition out of work mode - the 34 second wait to see the little white man who would shoo me to the Burberry side - was no different than yesterday or the Friday before.

But around second 20, as I consciously made the decision to change my mood from yeah-yeah-work-that-badunkadunk (aided by Ginuwine's "Pony") to something a little less BET-inspired (I was thinking either GNR's "November Rain" or "Estranged"), a tall, lithe shadow followed by a tall, lithe woman strode forward, her I'd-know-them-anywhere black Loeffler Randall 'Edie' pumps coming to a strong halt just two inches from my vintage black suede peeptoes.

"Nice shoes," I thought to myself, 1/3-shamelessly staring at them, 2/3-struggling with the effects of the hot, saturated air on my ability to land on "Guns n' Roses" on my Nano's hyper-sensitive touch-pad.

"Not Graham Parker, not Gwen Stefani, damn it," I said aloud as the black bar cursor mocked me by bouncing between the two artists bookending my beloved '90s hair band.

After a few more missed attempts, I gave up on my iPod and decided to devote the entirety of my attention - and the last six seconds we had on that street corner together - to those seamlessly-sewn, a-little-short-for-my-taste-but-I'd-take-'em-in-a-heartbeat Loeffler Randall twist-front peeptoes.

3

2

1

Just as we were about to disperse according to pace into the avenue, I decided I would pay the compliment forward (I'd received my own "those shoes are FABulous" earlier in the day while picking up a bag of Starbucks Sumatra for the office) and tell this woman how very much I liked her shoes, and by extension, her taste.

But as we reached the other side, someone beat me to it. A gentleman. A good looking gentleman.

"Excuse me," he said, running to catch up with Ms. Loeffler Randall, "I just wanted to tell you that those are gorgeous shoes. You look very graceful in them."

"I...I, um, thank you, they're...they're new," the late-30-something woman replied, the deep flush in her cheeks and fidgeting hands vitiating any verbal attempt to seem collected.

"I'm Patrick," the man said extending his right hand, "And you are..."

"I'm Jordan."

"Nice to meet you, Jordan. What do you do here in DC?"

At that point, I thought it was only polite I quicken my clip and remove my burning ears from their charming exchange. It was theirs, not mine.

As I walked away, I fished my iPod out of my bag and caught a break -- "November Rain" on the first try. And as I approached my intersection, the corner of 17th and M, and listened to that haunting piano intro and those first few lyrics - darlin' when I hold you/don't you know I feel the same/yeeeaaah/nothin lasts forever and we both know hearts can change - I turned around to see if those two were still where I'd left them. Indeed they were. And I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure I saw Blackberries out and numbers being exchanged as well.

It just goes to show, the potential for love is literally on every street corner. Even in DC. Sometimes all it takes is a little nudge in the way of a beautiful pair of shoes.