Patrick Moberg isn't the only American Apparel-clad, authentic dimpled pony finding love underground. Yesterday on the F train, listening to "Bankrupt on Selling" on my iPod Touch, I encountered my inamorata. She was eating noodles out of a styrofoam container. Her shift dress had turquoise feathers on it and dreamcatchers. She was clipping her nails! Screwing my courage to my sticking point, I just screwed up. By the time I approached her, she had faded into the anonymity of the East Broadway F stop. I hope she uses the internet and Facebook!

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