one
The only sound she could hear was the click of her boots and the resonant buzzing from the cheap light above, becoming louder as she neared it. It sat above a vending machine, old and hopefully still in tact. Beside the machine was a trash bin and the front of a bicycle, the only wheel present was flat and the pole was broken before the seat would appear and she wondered where it could've gone. The paint was chipped everywhere, showing the rusty metal. With an inaudible sigh she reached into her purse, finding a crinkled dollar stuffed at the crumby bottom. The face of George Washington was bent and folded awkwardly so she stretched the bill before rubbing it against the corner of the machine.
The hollow darkness around her that the cheap light could not illuminate watched her every move. She suddenly felt nervous as the light stopped buzzing and a silence fell around her. She peeked around her shoulders at the newfound quiet before aligning her dollar bill with the money slot.
"It's out of order," a voice spoke.
She abruptly jumped at the unknown presence and looked around her, cowering back to the vending machine. The darkness was greeting her again, empty and failed of any figure standing about. She turned back to the vending machine, noticing the sign smacked onto the front with the words 'out of order' written in capitals with an out-of-ink pen. She wondered how she didn't notice it the first time around.
She didn't miss the hairs on the back of her neck rising up and her sixth sense recognized the air become less muted. She turned and jumped again, less harsh than the last time, when she saw a man standing right at the rim of the shadows. The dark still reaching out to grab some parts of him. She could see his roseate lips and the tip of his nose, not red like hers, but the shade covered his eyes and parts of his dark clothing that she could barely see anyways. She didn't hear his footsteps.
"Miss the sign?" he asked, stepping toward her and coming into view. She could see him now, the low lighting providing just enough to notice the faint green of his eyes and his brown hair, pushed away from his face. His shirt was striped with black and white lines and his jeans were black, mildly right against his thighs. She could see that his lips held the stick of a toothpick.
"Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice hesitant and quiet. He could almost barely hear her words.
She watched as the corners of his lips turned upward and his shoulders rise when he let out a huff of a laugh, stepping closer to her.
"Me," he began, not ceasing his movements a she grew even more nervous than she already was, "I am someone... something you've never seen before. I am different." His words confused her but she didn't speak up on it as his steps continued around her, to the other side of the vending machine.
"I am a normal person, of course, but not normal like you. I am the epitome of misdemeanors and..."
She turned as he paused his words, only to find the dark facing her again. He was not there or anywhere around her as she searched the minimal space that the light showcased and he was nowhere in sight. She almost thought he had disappeared into the shadows again if he hadn't spoke up.
"I am an enigma."
She turned quickly and looked upward to see his sitting on top of the coke machine, his legs dangling off the front as he stared down at her. She was further confused and he knew it.
"Is there something you want?" she asked, watching his right foot swing slowly, tapping against the surface of the machine. He nearly laughed at her question but only grinned wider and looked away to the concrete where the light faded into the dark.
"Hmm... no," he shrugged. She was nearly relieved. "But..." he spoke again, making her look up, but only an empty space. She shivered when his next words were spoken directly behind her, his words trailing down the back of her neck and through her spine. "There is something I need."
