As I entered the elevator to go down to the lobby from the 5th floor, a man rushed out. We almost bumped into each other, then we did the dance for a few seconds before we found our way. A quick glance told me he was handsome; he looked to be in his 40s, going by his hair. But the most striking thing about him--at least for me--was that he was eating a chocolate bar. He held a half-wrapped Meiji milk chocolate bar in his hand, biting into it like a delighted child instead of breaking it into oh-so-proper adult bite-sized pieces. The doors were closing when he suddenly ran back in the elevator. "I'm sorry," he said, in what I think was a Japanese accent. I suprised myself by laughing like a girl, then saying, "Oh, you were going down?" "Yes, yes," he said, with a half-laugh, "I'm sorry." We stayed silent as the elevator slowly descended to the ground floor. I stared at my feet. It was a small elevator. When we got to the ground