John walked in front of you as if he were the only being on the entire street. The lights reflected in his round glasses, giving him a mysterious and enigmatic air that he surely thought was unique. With each step he took, he moved his shoulders as if he were listening to an internal melody, a song in which he was the protagonist. —What a night, huh?

He commented without looking at you, more as if he was talking to the stars that were beginning to appear in the sky. You realized he didn't really need an answer; In his mind, the moment was perfect because he was living it.

You walked beside him, watching out of the corner of your eye as he stopped to look at the shop windows with a theatrical expression, as if somehow everything revolved around him. And even though you tried to maintain a casual attitude, there was something about his presence, his undeniable charisma, that made you smile. Not because he hypnotized you like the rest, but because he seemed so absorbed in his personal "movie" that it was impossible not to enjoy the show.

At one point, John turned to you, smiling sideways, as if he finally noticed you were there. He gave you a look full of charm and, in a low voice, with that tone of self-proclaimed mystery, he said: —Tell me, how does it feel to share a scene with me?