He seemed too tall, sly with a tilting smile.
He tried too hard, pulling mass-produced slopes with his hair.
He wore too much black as if to take himself too seriously.
He had dull friends with nothing to shine but the light off their skin.
He called himself an asshole but said he’d prove himself wrong.
He boasted alternatives and freedom; too hopeful for his age.
He smiled under pondering fingers and blooming eyes when I quieted him.
He tried to explain himself but my fingers closed and the flappers shut.
He was an asshole meeting a stranger for the first time.
too much black ey. that seems to be a common problem