Possibilities

Possibilities - Non betaed, no proofreading. All mistakes are mine.
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I sense him the very moment I enter in the bar. He is an effervescence of possible futures, unlike most people. That means he doesn't have plans for his near future or desires for the long run. People like that are dangerous.

I scratch my eyebrow and consider peeling one of my eyepatches off. Instead, I rearrange my sunglasses.

Can't say I'm not curious. How can someone live without thinking or planning their next step? Without any expectation or... It suddenly hit me: he has nowhere to go.

He buzzes with so many possibilities I can't even see what he looks like. Around him there's just a future cloud, infinite copies of him vibrating around the real man. Another drink, moving to the bathroom, to one of the tables, asking for a beer, whisky, nachos... So many I can't even face him.

I step closer, enticed by the image - it is gorgeous, in an interesting way; it reminds me of an Escher painting. I can't help but keep trying to make sense of what I see, but it is impossible.

Reality moves, towards me. He is looking at me. The buzz stops. The copies start vanishing, just stepping back and sitting back, melting into the man, until his near future is only one and it is staring at me.

A few seconds later I feel his eyes on me and I tremble. He keeps looking, up and down, curious, as I move towards the bar. The city thinks I'm blind and it is to my advantage. I can see he will check me out with a lot of interest. His future self leans over the bar, asks the bartender about me. It makes me smile.

As he focus on me, he eliminates his near future possibilities and I can take a good look at him. Brown hair, curly, thinning over his temples. His eyes are brown and deep; intense, as everything about this man. He doesn't look much; his clothes are shaggy and his stubble grown, unkempt. He is immensely tall. I know because the only possibility I can see right now is myself sitting beside him, and he is leaning, a soft smile on his face, trying to start conversation. My future self looks up and smiles; I can't help but to smile myself.

I can see he will like me. And I will like him. It's just a matter of seconds.

I get closer to the bar, my future self leaning to his side, laughing to something he will say. I hear his voice for real, the first time.

"There's a stool to your left." I nod and smile, moving closer to occupy the seat besides him. His voice is low and rough; scratchy. He touches my elbow lightly, guiding me to the seat. I'm startled at how dry are his fingertips.

"Thank you." I say softly, cocking my head to his side as I put my hands over the bar. The barman will see me in a few seconds and will bring me a coke. Good. I turn a bit to the stranger and nod. "People are not usually that gentle with their hands when they try to help me, so thank you very much."

"No problem. Do my best, not a lot of people like being manhandled, you know..." He says and for some reason I laugh. His voice tickles some inner part of my ear, making my heart beat faster.

Then a miracle happens. I'm so distracted by the presence of this man I can not see the future possibilities... I'm just imersed in the sea of darkness behind my glued eyelids and it's bliss.