Enigma

You don’t notice him at first when you enter the coffee shop. You start toward the counter to place an order for a cappuccino when something catches your eye. A flash of blue. You turn and realized startling cobalt irises are staring at you. He lounges against the artfully peeled café wall, his confident gaze holds you hostage. The enigmatic man stands and walks toward you, linen shirt fluttering. “Hello,” he says, “My name is Mitchell.” You cannot seem to breathe, your pulse thumps in your ears. You look down to shake his proffered palm only to hesitate. His hand is covered in a dark brown substance, sticky and smeared between his fingertips. Now your heart races for an entirely different reason. He laughs. “Oh my,” He says, “It seems a chocolate bar got lost in my pocket.” He slips the confectionary digits back into their pocket. “Let’s start over.” His smoldering expression returns causing your cheeks to warm. You forget the chocolatey paw. “Hello. My name is Mitchell.” He draws his opposite hand from its pouch and extends it to you. It’s covered in a light brown glutinous paste. You gag. “Silly me. I forgot that’s my peanut butter pocket.”