Spandex Man

This is a five star street, not a seedy alley with a man in a trench coat behind a dumpster, going “Pssst, kid, want a salt shaker?” as he winks.

You stare at the alley man, ready to run, but his salt shaker looks enticing. He opens his coat to reveal a yellow spandex bodysuit and rollerblades, his outfit looking rather shiny in the evening sun as his coat trails behind him, like the billowing cloak of an unsung hero.

He rollerblades toward you, grunting and breathing heavily as he shows you an assortment of handmade macaroni necklaces, adorned with glue. Some handmade magnets saying, “I’d rather be a snake,” were present, and his breath smelled like freshly mowed grass.

His eyes are wild with excitement as he pulls a small tub of butter from his pocket, slightly melted from the heat of his sweaty, spandex clad body.

You watch in bemusement as he lifts the light blue lid and drinks, gulping loudly as his bloodshot eyes darts between you and the sky, his undomesticated face hollow from lack of sleep.

"It's a good drink and I use it as chapstick."

The cloaked, spandexed man licks his chapped yet buttered lips, smacking them to increase the moistness. He handed you a complimentary lemon scented air freshener, in the shape of his head. “It can double as soap,” he whispered, as you notice his chipped, bitten nails.

“I used to work as a mascot for an enchanted rat factory, I can get you some more.”

You gasp in fear at the man who makes no sense, wondering if he was suffering from a stroke, but his alerted, calm gaze convinces you otherwise as he leans in and whispers in your ear. “I have Guess Who’s alternative title, Who’s it.”

He pulls out a box from his rather large inner pockets and you are impressed, the man has taken your fancy.

You eye the spandex and blades, the homemade trinkets did not catch your gaze. “Gimme the blades and dex,” you demand.

“Yes, sold,” he replies sadly and he rips it off and hands his yellow suit to you, and it has velcro lining, perfect for ripping it off.

Prepared, you notice.

You look up to see he has on another, brighter suit of spandex underneath. He flourishes his old shell to you, “sorry about the baby powder inside. I stick,” he says as you gladly fork out your money for his shoes and clothes.

He kicks off his sweet, wheeled kicks and you quickly pick them up, they smell of whipped cream. The deal has been done, and the man smiled toothily, winking with both his bloodshot eyes.

Perplexed as to why he wore two suits of yellow spandex, you shoot a question with your eyes. "It's always the spandex," he whispers, looking sadly at his trinkets. "I've never sold one of these ornaments in my life..."

“What is your career, other than a rat cosplayer?” You inquire.

“An ASMRtist, I was world famous, before I gave it up to become a snake. I lived on a steady diet of raw eggs and snails, until the accident.”

He pulls out a new pair of purple rollerblades from nowhere and sits down to put them on, pouring whipped cream into them.. “Softens ‘em right up, so perfect for my knackered toes.”

The yellow man grabs your leg to pull himself up, and you shriek from the sheer audacity.

“What accident,” you demand.

“Make your wallet talk before I do,” he snaps, and you throw him a single penny, which he takes greedily.

“A farmer caught me slithering through his crops and called the police,” he explained, a heavy look in his sad eyes.

“I took off running, which was hard, seeing as I hadn’t used my legs in half a year, but I soon remembered and fled. I had to re-learn how to use my arms and write,” the banana cosplayer remarks.

“That was double hard, seeing as I couldn’t write in the first place, but look at me!” he skates around you, encircling you as he lifts one leg in the air and spins into a pirouette.

“A true star,” you agree as you check your watch. Dusk was slowly creeping over the horizon and the man was far from done.

“I don’t own a house, at night I snuggle into a sleeping bag bodysuit and zip up, hiding under someone’s porch, but this is the life I enjoy.” he finishes, closing the trench coat back up, his hands shaking.

“Oh,” you say, as he pulls out a wet hair tie.

“Show this to anyone and they’ll send you straight to me, kid.” you eye it suspiciously. “You’re a VIP customer, I’d cut off my own tongue and sell it to you. You want?” he perks up, eager at the thought of more money.

You violently shake your head and he smiles before rollerblading into the night, taking out a bar of butter and snacking as he goes, as you run home, excited to try on your snappy new spandex.