A tan skinned boy stands in a crowd of people, skyscraper tall among a crowd of suburban townhouses. The tawny skin of his cheeks speckled with freckles are partially hidden behind a thick-framed Ray Ban. The Buddy Holly-esque glasses extenuated the harsh curve of his nose, and just under the lenses, his russet colored eyes peer out into the world around him, uncorrupted and curious. His eyelashes are like the valance on the kitchen window, they are so long any girl would be envious. Peeking over the rim of his specs is a scar that sits perfectly on his eyebrow. His almost-nose-length jet black hair is cut in such a way to frame his round face. With an off center part, and his hair is carelessly pushed to one side it looks like he just woke up. His dappled cheeks pushed up the frame of his glasses, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching, when he flashes a sublime smile. His teeth are consummately aligned like the planks of a boardwalk disguised in crisp white snow. His toned arms are covered in motley tattoos of various sizes. Some travel along the winding roads on his arms while others sit cautiously on the delicate skin of his wrist or the tops of his knuckles. One in particular ensconces the scarified skin right before the crook of his elbow, depicting an intricately drawn anchor with the words I refuse to sink swaying just below. The colors of the artwork more vibrant than ever in contrast to the muted grey t-shirt he is wearing. The loose fitting tee falls just above the pockets of his taut black jeans. His hand digs in his pocket and pulls out a guitar pick. He unconsciously flips it over and over again between his calloused fingers. They are rough and rigid from the years of playing guitar. The skyscraper tall boy stands in his worn out Vans, unperturbed by the crowd around him, and without a care in the world.
