Eisaiah Oakland

Sitting at the bar, you have a feeling of being watched. A shiver trails up your spine. You seemingly look around, trying not to be obvious as you search for the glare, as your eyes meet with a pair of peridot green eyes. Like the grass blowing in the breeze outside in early summer, the color dances in them as the bar lights flicker through them. They are beautiful. Your breath catches in your throat as the man attached to them stands up. You think he's gonna come talk to you, but he leaves