It’s golden hour, the sun is shining and people are walking all around, some laughing, some walking hand in hand, others with headphones in, probably going to work. I’m walking on the street, and someone random guy comes to me and says something, I take my earbud out.

“What?” I ask, curiously.

“Pick three words,” the happy stranger smiles at me, waiting for my answer.

“Hm, random ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, coffin, shoelace and indistinguishable.”

“Very random, but I’ll take it,” He laughs, his cheeks coverng his sparkling eyes.

He starts singing, “I walked out of the coffin, tying my shoelace, out the door, can’t focus anymore. My heart is sore, it’s so indistinguishable.”

When I tell you his voice sounded like an angel galloping through the great Scandinavians, it was amazing!

My eyes light up, “Oh my gosh! You have a talent.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, something about this man intrigued me.

“Is this your form of work?”

“Yes, but I also just do it for fun. How did I sound?” He says humbly.

“It was amazing, I’ve never heard better singing than that,” I say enthusiastically, jumping up and down. His smile widens with a hint of surprise on his face.

“You really think so?”

“Oh trust me, you could sell out a concert with that voice.”

He smiles again, and oh. my. gosh! This man was blessed with such a delicate, infectious smile.

I dig around in my purse looking for cash, “I’m sorry I don’t have any money, would you like this muffin?” I hand out my blueberry muffin to him.

“I don’t want to take it from you,” he waves it away.

“Please I _insist,” _my face hopeful.

“Sure,” he finally gives in after 1 minute of silence.

“Here how about we split it?” He offers.

“Sounds good.”

We’re both sitting on a random park bench, some cafe that is decorated with books, flowers, and coffee decorations behind us (you can tell by the huge glass windows.)

“Do you come out here often?”

“Not really, I just started doing this. My grandma told me I needed to do some sort of exercise if I wanted to become a singer.”

“You’re really good though,” I say, admiring him—don’t worry—I don’t like him like that, not _YET._ There is so much to this story you’ll want to know, but that comes later_. _

“Do you know you’re like a shot of espresso?” I ask.

“How come?”

“You’re very bubbly and smiley most guys aren’t like that. It’s almost like you’re a golden retriever,” I said, picking at my muffin and putting pieces in my mouth.

“Okay I can see that, what dog would you be.. let me think,” he paused, “A poodle!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the way you carry yourself, with elegance and grace, but you’re also kind and bubbly.”

“I feel like I already know you and yet we just met.” I laugh. The irony was insane.

“It feels that way to me too,” He says.

We exchanged numbers after this, and it wasn’t goodbye, only a see you later.

(Part 2???)