The new kid in class has perfect penmanship. The new kid has perfect confidence. The new kid has perfect shoes, exactly like mine but cleaner. I know because down is always where I look.
The new kid has a cluster of sycophants who, on a good day, ignore me. On a bad day, the new kid appears and tells them to piss off. The new kid helps me up, and passes me my fallen fountain pen, and in a soft voice says, Great shoes. I glance at their clean shoes, then at my own. I smile. Downwards, small, but perfect.
The new kid has a cluster of sycophants who, on a good day, ignore me. On a bad day, the new kid appears and tells them to piss off. The new kid helps me up, and passes me my fallen fountain pen, and in a soft voice says, Great shoes. I glance at their clean shoes, then at my own. I smile. Downwards, small, but perfect.
