He's on the phone again. This makes numero dos on the phone calls. Maybe he's a photographer. The first time I saw him, he was photographing the bushes in the pseudo garden behind the art building where I spy him smoking cigs from time to time. He's always wearing a collared shirt: first a red polo, followed by a black one of the same variety, and today he's wearing a long-sleeved button-up. From here it looks like a pale, pale pink polo...but I can't be sure.
He's always smoking a cigarette. But of course; I only see him when he's outside the art building on a smoke break. I watch as he peers into the closest bush. What is it? A bird flies out and he follows its movement: straight out to his right, then back around his head. Too bad his eyes aren't following the bird as it streaks past my window.
He's got a beard and looks like the missing link between Ray LaMontagne and Adam Goldberg. Other art students approach him, shake his hand, but I'll never meet them. I won't meet him either. At least, I haven't yet. I guess there's always a chance I might. But I'll only know it's him by the camera and the collared shirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment