(some scenes of a memory) “He was tired. So tired, he barely picks his feet up as he walks across the room and throws himself into a chair. His head slumps forward briefly as he takes a breath and scrunches his face into both hands, before looking up to reveal dark shadows beneath his smoky green eyes. He stifles a yawn and, for a moment, looks too exhausted even to speak. And then he flashes a smile – the kind of roguish smile that instantly explains how he’s ravaged with the exhaustion, initially looking quite ordinary. But you catch a glimpse of a briefly sigh, you hear his slow, gravelly voice, which sounds like he’s just out of bed, you see the lines crinkle around his magnetic eyes as he laughs, you catch moments of his streetwise wit, deference to his teenage days – and you know He is rather special.”
Your key words are gamekeeper, corduroy, muscle tone and anything else that brings to mind a young hero who never says anything at all. It’s another truism that you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone – but that’s the beauty of the situation. Ambitious & idle – enormously attractive and, as broad brush strokes, it still pretty much sum up the perfectly formed wish out the society. Where you find a prejudice, you find a strong sense of personal identity. And whatever you find out of those, goddamit, you find it amaizingly interesting, deadly attractive. He’s man of stone, will have the torso of a young god, the interior life of a tortured genious and a spoken vocabulary of about a whole academy. It’s amistery, but when he’s hone you do understand why a person might throw away her entire life to see him again just once. Or a few times more. Anybody can have muscles, anyone can say a little, but it takes a man’s man to turn silence into such work of art, to make it look so deep, that it hurts. A lot. He’s a stranger to any vanity; he shies away from the large gatherings. The unreconstructed male might sound like a nuisance, in so for as he’ll (maybe) never do the washing – up or dauge the nappies. But then if you have a dishwasher and no children, you can dispense with carping and whining and instead concentrate on how fabulous he is. The Man’s Man specialises in standing-up way, drinking while never seeming drunk, catching girls who are about to fall over and looking surely; he will run through women like they’re burning a hole in his clothes. That hurts, too. But, this is a key – having found the right one, will not mess about. The natural air of authority is guaranteed. I think it’s because there’s no male accessory on earth sexier than a spirit level. It’s more an attitude than a set of skills, with a top note of grown-up-itude and independence that prevents him from just being plain childish and annoying. Two words define him: mighty fine. The Man’s Man is also a bad boy, apparently. It’s not a secret that a good girl loves a bad boy, isn’t it?
Your key words are gamekeeper, corduroy, muscle tone and anything else that brings to mind a young hero who never says anything at all. It’s another truism that you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone – but that’s the beauty of the situation. Ambitious & idle – enormously attractive and, as broad brush strokes, it still pretty much sum up the perfectly formed wish out the society. Where you find a prejudice, you find a strong sense of personal identity. And whatever you find out of those, goddamit, you find it amaizingly interesting, deadly attractive. He’s man of stone, will have the torso of a young god, the interior life of a tortured genious and a spoken vocabulary of about a whole academy. It’s amistery, but when he’s hone you do understand why a person might throw away her entire life to see him again just once. Or a few times more. Anybody can have muscles, anyone can say a little, but it takes a man’s man to turn silence into such work of art, to make it look so deep, that it hurts. A lot. He’s a stranger to any vanity; he shies away from the large gatherings. The unreconstructed male might sound like a nuisance, in so for as he’ll (maybe) never do the washing – up or dauge the nappies. But then if you have a dishwasher and no children, you can dispense with carping and whining and instead concentrate on how fabulous he is. The Man’s Man specialises in standing-up way, drinking while never seeming drunk, catching girls who are about to fall over and looking surely; he will run through women like they’re burning a hole in his clothes. That hurts, too. But, this is a key – having found the right one, will not mess about. The natural air of authority is guaranteed. I think it’s because there’s no male accessory on earth sexier than a spirit level. It’s more an attitude than a set of skills, with a top note of grown-up-itude and independence that prevents him from just being plain childish and annoying. Two words define him: mighty fine. The Man’s Man is also a bad boy, apparently. It’s not a secret that a good girl loves a bad boy, isn’t it?
- stella: ‘Ello, mate! You’ve got a bit of a smile in this day, I suppose?
- vlad: Well, you know how it goes. When it rains, it pours. When it doesn’t, you just have to sit back and chill – I’m good at doing nothing, too. Just smiling…
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