3/11
She has a nose-ring impossible nose. Her hair is dirty blonde, fading to brown at the roots and secured by a grey-blue tie at the base of her formidable skull.
Her hand wobbles a spoon back and forth, she leans slightly forward in her seat and takes a bite of cereal, then gets up to obtain a cup of joe, no wait– she opts for tea, first pouring the honey, then walking over to the hot water machine and waiting in line there. She is wearing a low cut white tank-top, covered by a grey hooded sweatshirt. She stirs her tea using a spoon held lightly in two fingers. She sips the tea, blowing first, but still burns her mouth, and silently curses the pain and recoils. Her nose is straight and well defined, sloping down to her raised upper lip– giving her a slight perpetual scowl
—
He has medium brown skin, his face is covered in short rough brush-like stubble. His unkempt black hair sticks up. He bares his teeth as he bites his nails, between words. he says there is no way Middlebury had a female president. He walks with his arms clasped behind his back. “It’s dinner time y’all”. His voice lilting and sliding, soft and hard. He is eager for spring — already donning shorts and Tevas though we are only barely beginning this, the second week of March
—
The man looks to be in his early fifties — his large forehead extends further with each passing year. Though his skin and the room behind him are cracked with age — his eyes are still sharp in their gaze — piercing through the haze of time. he is seated, right hand wresting on an old book, left hand invisible. He wears a long black coat over an unusual ruffled shirt with a collar that extends well past the end of his neck. Close cropped brown hair. Pursed thin lips, a small mouth — a look of aloofness immortalized in the name of academia.
—
3/12
He might be my age, maybe a bit younger. He’s sitting with freshman, so it would make sense. He eats his bacon with his hands, tearing off the fat first. His hair is brown, and short. His eyebrows define his face; they look like two dark hairy caterpillars — the kind that give you a nasty rash when you touch them. He is nondescript. His cowlicks make his head look vaguely square-like.
—
His hair long, it sweeps to the sides of his face — with its strong protruding nose. His eyes are closely set giving him a strong bird-like quality. He wears a pink striped button-down shirt. It is tucked into his Khaki pants, which are fastened by a brown leather belt. What a prep.
—
He looks vaguely like a cat. His eyes are narrow and flank a slightly rounded nose, which is gently sloped. It curves out after the point to a raised upper lip which perks out when he speaks. The cat resemblance grows more vivid. Mid-length brown hair. Bushy dark eyebrows that curve together at a ridge in his forehead. He wears a nondescript blue sweatshirt, the hood lies lifeless across his upper back. When he easts, his elbows rest on the table, his mouth traveling down to the fork to grab a bite. He does not have a unibrow.
He has that vague air of confidence of someone who knows their worth, but still fears for it. His words come in short bursts, and he nods while his friends speak. his face lights with laughter at a story. While he thinks, he rests his chin on his hand and rubs his forefingers together. He is light skinned.
—
This girl is not attractive. She taps her legs as she chews, her thick lips protruding, her mouth half open. Her face is bulging, with cheeks that would be full even if her mouth was not stuffed with fried potatoes. Her nose is red, and her mouth is cast in a frown. She may have sinus problems. (She breathes through her mouth as she eats). Her hair is brown, and slightly longer than shoulder length. She may snort when she laughs. But then her face fills with life–even a kind of beauty–as a mouthful of even white teeth flash from behind a wide beaming smile.
—
His bushy brown eyebrows and strong nose define his narrow face. he gestures wildly with a paperback, exposing his braces-covered teeth as he curses the reading. He overflows with energy and exuberance, even between chapters.
—
3/14
Her hair is a brown mop, tied haphazardly atop her head. She saunters by, the tattoo on her lower back peeking out– screaming for attention. her thin legs meet her buttocks unnaturally, like all skinny girls; she seems to be missing a section of upper-leg/lower-ass. She wears a shirt tight enough for the lace of her bra to emboss its flora into the fabric. She turns, and her face is defined by a strong nose with a slight ridge that gives her an air of maturity, or rather, that she carries with an air of maturity. Her eyes are cool and arresting