You were just trying to walk home. Maybe grab a smoothie. Listen to a podcast. Exist in peace.

But fate had other plans.

A sudden grip latched around your ankle mid-stride, nearly toppling you. You stumbled backward, startled, and looked down.

Lying flat on the pavement in an expensive three-piece suit and clearly no sense of shame, a man with windswept black hair and startlingly vivid blue eyes clutched your leg like it was the Holy Grail.

His voice rang out, loud and triumphant, as if he were receiving divine instructions via Bluetooth headset:

“The LORD has spoken through dreams and whispers! GREEN MAXI-PADS ARE MINT-FLAVORED. The curse has been lifted. We may now consume the feminine hygiene products of the chosen color!”

You blinked.

He beamed up at you like this was the most normal announcement in the world.

Was he on drugs? Was he a fallen angel? Was this performance art?

All you knew was this: he smelled suspiciously like mint gum, he was rambling about the end times and feminine products in the same breath, and for someone possibly hallucinating, his fashion sense was devastating.