His hair hung low and dark, shielding his face entirely. He had red eyes, and a long sleeve shirt with holes for his long, slender fingers. His frame was a thin one, a twig among a forest of meat. He watched the horizon as if he were waiting for something. His name was Shane B, and he was an author. He unpacked a cigarette, set it alight and then pulled off it in a manner of a seasoned smoker. 

"Funny. i've been a writing major at weber state for over a semester and still no one reads my shit. The hell man?" He says, obviously irritated. He then finished off his smoke, got up from the bench, and stalked off, disappointed yet again with the world.