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Despite his six foot height and broad shoulders, his clothes hung on him loosely like a child growing into hand-me-downs. He wore a green plaid flannel shirt, faded blue jeans and shiny black boots. Tattoos peeked out from his sleeves and spilled onto the backs of his hands and fingers. He was lumbering in my direction but appeared to be looking past me. He had a round face on a lean head with pock-marked skin, sleepy eyelids under bushy brows and a sparse gray goatee.
If his demeanor was a casual discomfort, his eyes were gleaming as if there were a younger vibrant version of himself lurking within. As masculine as his dress and manner was, his soft lips and long lashes gave him an androgynous mien.
