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The following character sketch was gleaned from graphite-smudged pages of my trusty old Moleskine:
A young man is bent over a small, black notebook, writing quickly with a black pencil that has a black eraser. His black dress shirt has seen better days as evidenced by the white thread showing at the cuffs and collar. It’s untucked. His jeans are new, bought to replace two pairs with gaping holes at the knees. His sneakers, unsurprisingly black, bear scuff marks and even the imprint of another shoe on the left toe.
His hair is dark brown with a half dozen silver hairs catching the light. He secretly likes them. His hair is curly, but kept short enough to preserve an appearance of professionalism. Sideburns in need of a trim frame a youthful face.
His eyebrows are lowered in contemplation above green eyes. His lips are parted slightly to reveal two front teeth with a gap in between them that nobody really notices but that he despises. His fingers are long, thin and precise in their left-to-right movement across the lined pages. His left hand pins the notebook to the table while the right wields the pencil; he holds it like a lefty. He spends a page-and-a-half writing a character sketch of himself out of a dangerous mixture of boredom, ability and ego.
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