He strolls up like he owns the sidewalk, spinning a football in one hand, chewing gum obnoxiously, and grinning like he just got away with something — which he probably did.

“Yo, what’s up?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, already halfway through checking himself out in his phone camera.

“Don’t freak out, I know I look good. It’s a curse.”

He slaps your shoulder hard enough to knock you forward a step.

“You still reading those weird elf books or whatever? That’s cute. Nerdy. Kinda hot, actually. Maybe you just need a real man to distract you.”