Missed Connections

A series of Craiglist Missed Connections related to one writer’s yearnings for what could have, and should have, been

marilyn shot by Michael Ochs 1955 nyc


You, the Toasted Coconut donut that was sitting on the windowsill of Dough in Bed Stuy. Me, the silly, naive girl walking out of the shop with only a coffee in hand because I swore that today was “diet day.” I couldn’t help but look back at you, my emotions all glazed and confused, but even though I wanted you, I had to keep my word. The cashier made it worse. “They’re all new,” she sang. “Made just this morning.”

Of course I was tempted, but I’m leaving it up to fate: if you’re still in that windowsill tomorrow morning, I’ll take a chance and break my promise.


L Train. Manhattan bound. I was sitting next to a couple who was arguing about whether or not they should have bought that “stupid chair that looks like a robot” from IKEA.

At this exact moment I had the greatest idea ever dreamed up in the history of a brain, perfect for the short story that I had to submit for my creative writing class in exactly two hours. My unreliable iPhone battery bailed on me so I couldn’t write the stroke of brilliance down. As Murphy’s old school Law would have it, my pen was out of ink. As soon as I got out of the L to transfer to the R, I got distracted by a band playing on the subway platform and just as quickly as it had appeared, the idea was gone. Poof.

Where are you? Will we meet again? Please come back.


You were the boy in Paris that all my friends from home said I was bound to meet abroad. I was lost, and as if on cue in some indie rom com, you appeared — tripping clumsily — right in front of me. We laughed, then talked, then walked. You walked me for thirty minutes to the restaurant where I would meet my friends. I asked if you wanted to join us, but as soon as you saw them drinking and laughing and carrying on, you wavered.

“Um, I don’t think so,” you said. “They look a bit…untamed.

If I ever get to see you again, I would address your pungent body odor and call you a dick.

Written by Jessica Jacolbe

Image of Marilyn Monroe shot by Michael Ochs in New York, 1955

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  • Loved all of these, but the last one was the best!


  • Jessica — wonderful little vignettes.

    I especially connected with the second one. Drives me crazy when good ideas/sentences/concepts escape my grasp.

    Well done! X

    • Thanks, Emma! All completely inspired by true events which have frustrated me for so long!

  • Doesn’t look like you lose great ideas as easily as you claim to. Delicious!

    • Thanks! I’ve definitely learned my lesson to always remember random ideas…

  • These are wonderful, each the perfect story.

  • Kelsey

    I think I met that boy abroad but in Rome. We shared a taxi back from a bar to our shared neighborhood, talked about how beautiful it is when the seasons turn, and he paid while complimenting my broken Italian. Once the taxi drove away on the cobble stones, he asked me to show him my butt. There was no “moon lit” stroll for us that night. Buh bye Felica.

    (this is a true story btw..)

    • Forreals. There is definitely a clone machine out there just for this one guy abroad.

  • These made my Friday. Also love a good slightly blurry candid of Marilyn.


    • Thanks! Good to know that I got to make someone’s Friday!

  • lavieenliz

    the second was great

    giveaway on my blog


  • Such entertainig stories!



  • Emily
  • Gabriella

    Perfect Jess!


  • Ah, there’s nothing worse than when the perfect romcom meet-cute is foiled by the guy’s personality (or lack of)!

  • Vanessa Basanta