Last fall, when I was teaching at a major university in Alabama, I only kind of knew this mildly creepy guy named Ron.

He was friends with people I knew, and sometimes came along to our Tuesday night margarita night, but he was ambiguous in every aspect of his life. I could never tell if he was kidding, or if he was gay, or what he meant by pretty much anything he said.

One day he passed me in the library and noted a Smiths button on my bag that my token British exchange student had given me. Later that day, I had this note in my mailbox in the department office:

Does the body rule the mind or does the mind rule the body? I dunno.

I responded with this:

I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear.

The next week, he wrote:

Me without clothes? Well, a nation turns its back and gags.

Over the course of the semester, he left notes in my box twice a week. Do you know how awesome this was? Here are a few that I found stuffed into the pocket of the passenger-side-visor:

How can they look into my eyes and still they don’t believe me? How can they hear me say these words–still they don’t believe me.

I want the one I can’t have, and it’s driving me mad. It’s written all over my face.

Girl afraid: where do his intentions lay? Or does he even have any? She said, “He never really looks at me; I give him every opportunity.”

Although I walk home alone, my faith in love is still devout.

I really, really love these out of context. I almost wish he’d gotten the mailbox wrong and delivered these to someone who would think, oh my god, what the hell do these mean? These sweet non-sequiturs out of the sky!