His eyes look slow, sluggish, and unfocused. A glimpse would capture his visage dewy; upon closer reflection it is a sheen of perspiration from sedentary activity. His blazer appears to conform to his rounded shoulders like a shrunken cardigan.
He will grow into his blazer, and his bad haircut.
A protuberance escapes the vertical lines of an intentional shirt choice.
His complexion would have once suggested lively engagement in the outdoors, now merely reddish from losing a race up the stairs to a Domino’s box.
His teeth remain as perfectly white as memory would allow against a once tender, now merely swollen, chapped mouth.
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