Going up

"Hold the elevator!"

I wedged my toes in the crack just before the doors closed. I've learned feet are more resistant to pinching than fingers in my daily trips up this slow elevator. Thirty-two floors. Thirty-two chances for someone to ask me to hold the elevator. On average, it happens three or four times per trip.

This time I held the elevator for a man I hadn't seen before. Close to six feet tall. Dark hair. Light eyes. Crinkles at the corners that hinted at laughter just restrained. And a gorgeous smile. Flawless even white teeth.

He stepped into the elevator and into the back right corner. I stood in the opposite back corner. We were alone.

I exercised my peripheral vision.

As I watched without watching, he turned his back to me and peered into the mirrored wall. Smiled at himself.

Then he leaned closer to his reflection, blocking my view of the mirror.

"Huh. Do you see that?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Do you see that? In the back, just inside my molars."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He turned and looked at me. "Come take a look at this."

Willing the elevator to hurry up, or for someone else to join us, I stepped over to his side. "What are you looking at?"

"In the back of my mouth, on the right. Do you see anything?" He tipped his head up a bit and opened wide. Giving him an awkward grin, I leaned closer to take a look.

He smelled of minty fresh breath mingled with male musk. Clean dirtiness. Despite the odd situation, I found this man attractive. And then I saw it. Tucked next to a molar in the back of his mouth. "Whoa. That looks like a baby shark tooth!"

That's when he bit me.

Just one sip

"Here, take a sip."

My eyes popped up from "The Raven" to see who was talking to me. Standing before my park bench was a man. That's all. An average, ordinary man. So average and ordinary that I remember nothing about him.

What I do remember is what he held in his hand. A sterling silver hip flask. Engraved with the words "Drink Me." Thoughts of Alice in Wonderland wandered through my head. "Excuse me?" made it out of my mouth.

"Take a sip," He repeated.

"What is it?" I asked. I had no intention of drinking his mystery potion, but was deeply curious.

"A potion. A potion to make any sense of your choosing greater than you can imagine."

"A potion," I repeated.

"Yes."

I stared at him for a long minute. He stared back.

"Does it have any negative side effects?" I asked.

"It depends on what you expect from the potion. And how you define negative."

Another long minute of staring. I reached out and took the flask, removed the cap, and sniffed. I smelled nothing.

"Do I have to tell you which sense I choose?"

"For the potion to work properly, yes."

"Does intuition count as a sense?"

"Sure."

I didn't have anything better to do. And I had a shocking lack of intuition, so I took a big swig.

Now I have intuition. Now I know what a big mistake I made. And how to define negative side effects. Negative side effects include dulling of all the senses other than the sense you chose to enhance. It says that on the side of the flask, in fine print.