AT 8 in the morning, I expected some old woman to be working behind the counter of the pharmacy — the kind of person who usually gets up at 6 a.m. anyway. Instead, there was a young guy in tight jeans and one of those faux-ethnic kaffiyeh scarves. I thought about how cold it wasn’t inside the pharmacy. When he asked me if I needed anything, I stepped aside to let my girlfriend, Sam, walk up to the counter.

“Yeah, a morning-after pill?” she said.

“We have Plan B and a generic,” he said. “Which one do you want?”

Sam looked at me as if I would know.

I made a face Sam knows all too well that said, “Uh?”

“How much is the generic?” Sam asked.

“Ten dollars cheaper.”

She looked at me again, then said, “I’ll take the generic.”

“O.K., that’ll be $35.”