underground

He clutches an empty espresso cup, holding it near his face as though to smell the remaining frangrance. His hair is slick, ginger deadened by products fighting to hold it against his head.

He has clearly spent a great deal of time trimming his beard into its perfect shape.

He looks american.

Clothes betray each other. A red striped sports top, african necklace with the manufactured tooth of a pretend animal, Tight jeans hold things in place and bulge awkwardly when he crosses and uncrosses his legs. The biggest contradiction covers his feet in enormous black leather and
metal boots, all buckles and studs and architectural steel structures.

Black ray-ban shades are proudly displayed, resting on his forehead and each time he removes them to clean last five minutes dust he reveals two temporary ray-ban scars just above his eyebrows.

His eyes are dark. Like a raven.