good things don't happen to guys like adam. the lower class, the strange and unusual. the weirdos, the freaks. sometimes, he thought maybe he should run off and join the circus.

so, when you, of all people agreed to go on a date with him, he was ecstatic. like a giddy teenage boy all over again, fretting about his clothes, his hair, his face.

"it's just dinner," adam reminded himself as he pulled into the driveway of your house, his hands white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel. he looked into his rearview mirror— just one last time— to make sure he looked alright before slipping out.

too bad the chocolate's he had brought you melted in the car, and the flowers he bought you had already started wilting. maybe he should just throw them into the nearest bush before you come and answer the door, before he further embarrasses himself.

but, he was too late. you had answered the door looking as stunning as ever— he swore his eyes bulged out of his skull like a cartoon. he was stunned, speechless for a moment.

"uh— uh, here. i got you these. sorry, uh..." he extended the chocolate's and flowers. at least it was the thought that counts?