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He’s got blue eyes. They remind me of toothpaste. You know, the minty kind, with the blue gel and small white flecks? Yeah, those. Exactly like those.

His pants are baggy, he dresses like a ten year old. White socks are pulled up as high as they can go, athletic shoes are dirty and worn.

The hair on his head is cut short on the sides, long on top. It’s fluffy with a slight curl, like it’s been repeatedly brushed back. Auburn, light auburn. Like blonde, but a blonde that’s been left out in the sun for too long. His eyebrows are dark though, along with the stubble clinging onto his chin. His jaw is square.

He moves lankly, one foot after another. His eyes move nervously, but his body does not. Long fingers rest on the surface, his lean figure bends to fit itself onto the seat, part of his torso is spread out on the cafeteria table.

I can’t quite understand him. Taking in his facial features and hair, I would expect him to dress a certain way, but he doesn’t. He dresses the way he likes, comfortable and like he came from the 80’s.

His smile isn’t bright, it’s hesitant. The sides quivering. Yet it’s still wide, inviting, and handsome.


The Author

A reader, photographer, and writer of all things.


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