He was a tall, solidly-built man, with dark hair and strange-looking eyes peeping behind large glasses. He had an odd way of speaking, as if he were trying to sound like someone he was not. He did not smile or laugh often, and he was not easily angered.

He was a person which had some issues with his life, he had a big head, but he didn't knew why. He had brown hair and sad-lookign eyes; the reason of it is unknown at the moment. He thinked he speaked a lot, that's why he never spoke so much in real life.

The man stood there, a loner, a man without many likable qualities to warrant having too many friends. He wore his nerdy t-shirts and his fedora, spouting sarcastic remarks at passersby. Occasionally people would stop and challenge him to fights over something he had said. He knew that he lacked much in the ways of physical prowess, so he would dismiss them and attempt to flee, sometimes without success, although he was used to the pain by now.

This man was but a writer without much contempt for human life, seeing it all as a joke someone with little taste told in a bar to his friends, drunk off his ass. Some might see this as sad, while others might note it as something to be honored, and some just dismissed it as lunacy. To him, he was superior to all, even though he knew he wasn't better than anyone in most regards, he just saw everyone as puppets to the world of sex, violence and crap TV, and he could see the string.

Chapter 19

A mere indifferent, sideways glance was enough to confirm for myself that the tall, mealy man across the diner was indeed myself from the past. I understood, above all else, above any transgression or obstacle that may attempt defy me and my most urgent mission, that I must tell myself the truth of what happened all of those abject years ago.

But first, I'm going to describe him, because I suck at segues.

He was an awkward man to say the least, oft to look about at the variety of interesting trinkets haphazardly strewn about the diner rather than what was occurring directly before him in the busy atmosphere. His apparent aloofness seemed to compound with his tall, six-foot stature and clumsy gait, but much to his everlasting sense of comfort, he does not attract the attention of others. His hair was a humble brown color, just barely reaching to the base of his neck. While it was frequently washed, it was uncommon for him to brush it; thus, he frequently parted from his black, glossy pair of goggles away from his hazel eyes. While he was counting the number of miscellaneous trinkets next to his table, I noticed that while he was completely invested into analyzing every small detail to the exclusion of the world, his eyes were frequently half-closed, giving him an inappropriate appearance of being perpetually indifferent or tired. His voice was a very deadpan, yet always rather polite tone. Indeed, in spite of his uncomfortable nature of dealing with most people on a social level, he greatly admired people and humankind in general, in spite of its frequent faults. He viewed himself as more of a entity that admirably gazes upon life, but can never quite view himself as an actual participant.

While I was clumsily describing him for this hypothetical book I was writing, I myself had failed to noticed that at some point, two friends of his had entered the diner and took an adjacent seat. My focus on describing myself with as many words as possible was snapped when the once quiet, shy, and unconfident person near me was supplanted by a more vocal and booming personality. His eyes became far more awake, and his deadpan voice, while still at a very low tone, became far more varied and emotional to match the upturn of energy that coursed through him, nearly at the sight of his friends. Yet, in all of the boisterousness that flowed forth endlessly from his invigorated body, he still would frequently look about to find as many small, needless details to contemplate, as well as to assure himself that nobody in the diner was giving the group any odd looks. It seems that the outgoing personality before me was simply a facade that he has no control of encasing over himself.

So, I'm going to go over there and give him a whole bunch of illegally obtained government documents over a course of events that may or may not have happened, even though I sort of remember bits and pieces of it a little bit, and actually, I'm not even sure if that's the person I'm looking for, or if it's just some random guy or anything. Like, what if he had some kind of gun? That would suck. Well, here goes nothing.

He was a man in his mid 20's, living alone. But that didn't bother him. What bothered him was his lack of motivation to get out of his apartment more often. He was one of the rare redheads, though he often had a cowlick on his right side. He often dreads going out into the city at dark, where he feels people are more jumpy and suspicious.

But yet, he worked the graveyard shift in another town where he felt more secure. He one days dreams of moving into another and facing his fears; not worrying about what could go wrong. Yet, he feels great comfort in his high school youth, to which he fondly looks back upon remembering the joy as well as his care-free endeavor. But to this day, he still dreams of making at least $30,000 per year.

He was a tall, thin, Caucasian male. Quiet, introverted, yet energetic and excitable sometimes, he spent much of his time thinking. A college student in his early twenties, he still had trouble picking a major, tho he did consider himself proficient in math, but then he had an epiphany and was thinking of becoming a writer. It was so infuriating to think about, and his hair trigger temper did not help. He loved cats and lucky for him, his family had, a few years ago, decided to take in a stray cat and now he could have a cat to feed, pet, and love as his own.
One of his more distinguishing physical features was his curly hair that he let grow out just enough for the barber to feel like he's shearing a sheep. People very often thought of his pretty hair, envious because they didn't have it. Even the family cat agreed. The man would lay his head down by the family cat as he was grooming himself, and then the cat would groom the man's head as a sign of being affectionate toward its mentor, erm, apprentice. When the man's hair had accumulated enough cat spit, he would reluctantly wash his hair since he didn't want to mess with the outline of his hair. We have to take the good with the bad, don't we?

A binlingual 17-year old that suffered many hardships to become the Responsible, Respectful man that obtains the confidence to change others and does what it takes to achieve what he desires. With the Traits of Dark Hair, Brown Eyes & Brown skin that secends the purity of his character. None the less he is soon to prepare for college and begin the dream of moving to Japan; But not forgetting his beloved Hispanic Hertiage.