The first time I met Enigma was in Brooklyn. It was January 28, 1999. I had a hangover from a previous night of barhopping, and I much preferred to stay home. However, some friends urged me to go out with them to a new cigar bar that just opened up down the block. As appalling as going to another bar sounded, I never had a cigar before.

It turned out you were supposed to puff the cigar smoke instead of inhaling it. After about forty minutes my already screaming stomach began caterwauling, and I ran for the bathroom. Once I emptied the entire contents of my belly into a toilet stained with the abuse of various partisans, I had concluded that I should go for a walk to clear my head.

I made it down to the East River when I spotted an empty park bench with a grandiose view of the Brooklyn Bridge. I sat there for something like twenty, thirty minutes as my head cleared. Then, just as I stood up to leave, I heard someone screaming.

A man, wearing nothing but his underoos, ran along the pavement. I was so shocked by the stately sight of him that for a moment I didn’t register the gun in his hand. Once I did, however, it was too late. He was already in front of me, chest heaving in and out. Drool dribbled down his chin like the tides of Spring. His hair, or what was left of it, danced in the air like ballerinas when they do their various poses and kicks on stage. His pupils widened with as much viciousness as an eternal eclipse. I knew it then and boy, oh boy, do I know it now that the man I met that day was, undoubtedly, a crack addict.

“Give me your wallet!” he said, spraying his saliva into my face. I thought of reaching for my handkerchief in my coat pocket to wipe the spittal off my glasses but thought better of it. The man was pointing a gun to my face, and any sudden moves and, well, I wouldn’t need to detail any further.

“Alright, alright!” I said.

I reached into my pocket pulled out my wallet. Holding it out to him, he snatched it. Then, he did something that surprised me: he lowered the gun!

But that wasn’t what surprised me most. After he opened my wallet, he took out my Mastercard and threw it at my feet. I was astounded. Then, reaching into the fold of my wallet, he took out a huge wad of cash that should have added up to two hundred forty-five dollars. He threw that at my feet too.

He took everything out one by one, throwing it all at my feet. I didn’t pick up any of it. Not out of fear, but out of bewilderment. The entire time I stood there, jaw agape, staring at this man who was barely clinging on to the one ounce of sanity he had left.

Finished, he shut the wallet and held it up triumphantly. “Heh, heh!” he said nasally. “This’ll buy me lots of crack!”

This bewildered me even further. The wallet was only twenty dollars.

Before I could point this out to him, he said, “Thanks a lot, loser!” Then he ran off in the same direction that he came at me from.

I stood there for something like two, maybe three minutes, and watched him run off into the city. When I could no longer see him, and when I was sure that he wouldn’t return, I relaxed.

“Boy, oh boy,” I said. “That man sure was an Enigma.”

Come to think of it, that crack addict wasn't Enigma. It was just a random crack addict. Come to think of it, none of that happened. Come to think of it, I would barely be eighteen days old on January 28, 1999. Come to think of it, I'M the one who's high on crack. Come to think of it, reality itself is a farce and the very concept of the "birthday" is an illusion that we celebrate annually to lighten the impact that is the passage of time. I shouldn't exist nor should you, NOR should this very story that I'm writing exist. Reality is an abstract concept projected by our brains to perceive the universe in all of its cosmic depth, and we should therefore be optimistic for our futures if we are ever to live happy lives in the grand scheme of nothing.

Goddamn I love crack.

Happy Birthday, Enigma.

...

Wait, when was his birthday?

How youre day.

7607653
This is art.
in the same way feces smeared on a wall are art

7607661
Good I just woke up from a 5-hour nap and I'm about to do a bunch of cleaning and organizing in the garage

7607661
How day partner.

7607663
Idk that'd sell for a Lotta money

7607665
How gay, partner

Happy Birthday, Enigma!

7607661
dow ur da