Perfection is a MysteryMature

I will admit I got out today I went to the mall, I had just posted that profile of ZACH and had to get tree anyways.

I stopped by World Roasters Coffee (I know don't judge). I saw a man, a mystery, he walked right past my table I wasn't even looking for him. there was something about him, i almost turned to walk out, instead I sat and watched trying to figure out why Joe lasted when the others didn't.

I think I know why.

Why we are all drawn to the Mystery? The methodic and average individual. Could it be the possibility that beyond that oversized black hooded sweatshirt and beer glass style lays the plentiful python biceps and viral chest of a greek god? Could it be the designer jeans riding ever so generously off the waist to expose a hip or ass which would, if you could, drive you half way to next tuesday? -and does- The gentle scent wafting past to leave a trail of crumbs leading to a house full of goodies? or could it be that even just for one moment this man was perfect?  A mystery. He doesn't love too little or lie to much, he doesn't drink like a fish and talk like the sailor, he never farts or swears or picks his nose or ass, he'd never cry in the theatre just because the leading man was dying in the water. He throws his towel in the hamper (even though you don't) and changes the roll when it runs out. The man behind the mask of Mystery, this could be him, the Perfect, and you'd never know unless you look up and take that second glance. 

That man was him draw factor and everything, the black sweatshirt, drawstring cargos riding a bit low, shades riding a bit high. His hair was dark blonde just like Joe's had been, but everything else was off. His hair hung low over his face almost greasy, a cigarette tucked behind his exposed ear. His nails were painted that exotic shade of blackish blue, like a burnt smurf might look or an ocean of common house flies landing on the window sill to catch the first moment of light before dawn. A mysterious man with a step that seemed to miss a beat. Was that sexy? Did I even know at this point? or was I dreaming of Joe? He caught my eye for a moment before turning toward the register. As he ordered I could not help wonder if he was a mass murderer or maybe one of those guys who builds boats inside of bottles. Trying to make him lesser, this only fueled my desire to know. What does he do? do I care? why him? 

His boots with gum soles and pink laces squeaking toward me, I think I might have found this erotic, or was I just insane, by any means I had to leave. I could have asked him the time as I passed, just to hear his voice maybe that would have quenched my intrigue but I didn't. Honestly I'm glad I didn't.

This was enough for one day 

The End

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