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Absolutely nothing, in the span of the entire day—no, scratch that, week—had gone even remotely in your favor. Today, in particular.
The Starbucks that you stopped at nearly every morning—for a venti, iced chai latte made with half 2% and half almond milk—was out of your favorite dairy substitute. The barista was genuine and apologetic, but you couldn't help but huff. With a stiff upper lip, you let them use soy milk instead, and left the coffee shop with a melancholy frown.
On your way out, a bike messenger peddling in the opposite direction that you were walking, glided through a puddle of leftover rainwater from the shower that hit Venice beach sometime last night. The smelly, murky splash assaulted the left side of your body, soaking you through to the bone. It took all you had inside not to burst into a fit of tears.
And, as if the day could not possibly suck anymore, some asshole decided to roll his penny board right into you, and knock you to the hot sidewalk.
"Shit," you heard him cry. Your head smacked the concrete on the way down, disorienting you. For a few long seconds, the only thing you saw was stars. "Are you okay?"
"Ow," was all you could think to say in response, a dull throbbing pain in the back of your skull making it nearly impossible to form a complete thought. When the sparkling dots that spotted your vision subsided, and your eyes could focus again, you couldn't make out the person huddled over you.
The sunlight cast a heavenly glow around his face, making it nearly impossible to distinguish any of his features in the shadow it cast. It was like a blinding halo had settled atop his damp mop of dark hair.
"Jesus." Your hand reached behind your head and groped at the raw bump, making you wince.
"I'm so sorry," the man said again, concern evident in his words.
"Skate much?" It was a rude thing to say, in retrospect. Especially since, judging by his pained tone, he sounded as though he was the one who had just been mowed down by a skateboarder.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" The question made you laugh, despite the growing pain in the back of your skull.
"No," you assured, "I'm good."
"Can you stand?" His words were still being forced out through a pinhole in the back of his throat, which just made you want to giggle harder.
"I fell onto the sidewalk, not off a cliff." The stranger stood from the concrete, holding his hand down towards you to help you straighten yourself out. Your jibe lightened the tension significantly, and he finally allowed himself to laugh with you.
"Fair enough."
With the west coast sunlight no longer blinding your vision, you were able to see the man in front of you. His expressive, dark eyes were encompassed by thick lashes and his jawline was covered in day old stubble. His clothes hung loosely on his figure, a pair of headphones resting around his shoulders. The subtle upturn of his nose was just enough to tip the scale from rugged to boyish.
