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He sat on the bus. He didn’t communicate with anyone, he just sat there. His hair needed a wash, his jacket too. His face seemed permanently covered with a minute layer of dirt, age, and a life poorly lived. He was not my type. Mid thirties, but not that attractive kind, his age showed. People are interesting creatures to watch. I watched him walk off the bus, really watched his outfit, watched his face, wondering what it was that drew me to stare, and why he made me so uncomfortable. I caught a glance at his eyes before he left.
They were the kind of eyes that made you feel as if a blanket were wrapped around your heart. He could spew bull shit out his mouth and clean it up, completely unnoticed. They could say “come on, baby, you know you can trust me” and you’d believe it without asking any questions. They could take control of any situation, no matter how many times you told yourself you were the one calling all the shots. They wielded a comforting power over you, a desire to be needed, a hope to cherished.
I saw your face in his eyes. I hated him instantly.