A black hedgehog with unkempt spikes pressed a pinstripe trilby between his ears and tilted it at an angle. He shut his front door behind him and started down the sidewalk on foot.
His lips pressed together in disgust at the thought of going to the coffee shop, such a sheeplike establishment, but there was a girl barista who worked there. He had seen her once before during an emergency caffeine run before his job shift at the Computer Town. She was a perfect female.
After a few minutes, the hedgehog rounded a corner and entered the outdoor shopping center. His reflection accompanied him on all the windows, a twin as mysterious and deep as he was, hands shoved in pockets, eyes down. He thought the scene quite cinematic and thought about using it in his first indie film. He was going to get started on it soon, or that's what he kept telling himself.
The coffee shop was up next. Its door swung open and a man in a business suit and a name badge rushed out with a hot beverage. Such a slave to capitalism. The hedgehog hated the very idea of working under some corporation, being told what to do, being defined by a job. Six months ago he had left the workforce, instead opting to freelance game development services as an ideas man. It was working out, kind of.
He caught the open door and walked in.
The scent of coffee beans drove an ice pick into his sinuses before dulling to a bitter, mature flavor that excited his caffeine craving. Pretending to ignore his barista's recited greeting, he pushed down his trilby harder, because it was slipping from the sweat of walking outside. It made his unstyled spikes flare out from under the brim. He wiped his palms on his denim shorts and got in line.
It was his turn already. His barista was an orange fox with black points and facial piercings. She was so pretty, and thin, and ideal. Her breasts pushed gently behind her green apron. Her breasts.
"What can I get for you today?" she asked, making eye contact. Or, she tried, but the hedgehog was staring at the floor instead. He had no idea what to say. How should he order? Should he say hello first? What if she judged his drink? What if she judged him? Everything was falling apart. She probably thought he was weird. She probably hated him. Oh god, how long had he stood there in silence?
"Have you been here before?" the barista asked again. She tongued the inside of her lip barbell.
"I'm fine, how are you?" he answered.
Oh no.
The fox girl giggled. "Can I like, recommend something?" She was smiling.
The hedgehog's brain may as well have turned to stone. He couldn't think, or talk, or even look her in the eyes. What color were they? He walked his view up the counter, up her apron, up her boobs, past her lips, to her eyes. They were amber.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, and looked away.
"For what?" she asked.
"Nothing, it's nothing, I'm sorry. I'll…have a triple large chocolate mocha." He opened the wallet that was chained to his belt loop and took out his debit card. She took it, swiped it, gave it back. Her beautiful hand was so close, he could feel the warmth off it.
She picked up a sizeable paper cup and a permanent marker. "What's your name?"
"Reynold." His saliva was cold molasses. She knew his name now! What should he say next? What was the best way to continue their transaction formalities into a conversation? Should he ask for her phone number? Compliment her face jewelry? What would produce the most favorable outcome? The options were too many. The possibilities and consequences, there was too much pressure, he was going to throw up. He wished for a game save state. He wiped his palms on his jean shorts again.
She handed the cup to her coworker, another fox, but not as pretty. "Thanks! We'll call you when your order is ready!"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and retreated without a word to the seating area. He sat. He was so nervous still. She was probably looking at the back of his head, laughing at him. He pressed his hat down again, hoping to hide under it. Thinking back to his drink order, he was obviously smitten with the barista, so why didn't she say anything? Reynold knew that females liked being progressive, so why didn't she make the first move? Did she want him to be chivalrous instead? Why didn't she just say what she wanted? Women were confusing, all the time. They expected him to be a mind-reader. How was he supposed to know how to act to win a date? She was just as puzzling as the rest of them. Stupid bitch.
"Reynold! Your order is ready!" The fox barista's voice rang out over the customer ambience and the black hedgehog stood up, pulling his silkscreen shirt down straight. He avoided eye contact with her once again, took his drink, and left forever.