For a brief second, out of the passing window, he looked like a rock star.
Seated now, his lanky frame sprawled into the aisle, arm casually extended along the glass partition, he sits with studied indifference.
Black rimmed rectangular shades, perfectly battered denim jacket, rings on all finger, he occasionally casts disparaging long-held looks at the people seated closest to him.
Perfect rock star magazine cover.
Not five feet away is a family of four. The baby, gleefully shoving his fist in his mouth, squirming to escape his father’s clutches. Eagerly he reaches out and goes to mama.
Little sister has a young Britney Spears thing happening with her hair: two sprouting ponytails spraying up like broccoli spears from the top of her head.
Studies in contrast.
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