You never know who you'll bump into in a New York subway station. Today, I walked past Robyn Hitchcock, a musician I hold in the highest esteem. I didn't see his face at first, but when I noticed a pair of purple pants and a swirling psychedelic shirt, I was certain it was him. Throwing caution to the oncoming C Train, I introduced myself, thanking him for his music. He was extremely cordial. We talked briefly about upcoming shows, including a set in November at Symphony Space. He asked me if I was a musician. When I told him I was a playwright, he paused, and seemed confused. No one ever knows how to respond to that one. I asked him what he was doing in town, and he said, "I pass through here occasionally, like the angel of death." It seemed a very Robyn Hitcockian thing to say, and it was the perfect punctuation to our brief, but unforgettable (for me) meeting.