fredmeepbob
His watch read 4:21. He anxiously watched the hand move in anticipation of what was to come. Seconds felt like hours. Hours felt like years. Wiping a bead of sweat off his temple, Mark resolved to get up and take charge of the situation. He could no longer diddle around and twiddle his thumbs.
His hair was styled in a fashion that made John feel emasculated in his new crowd. The echoing cries of "pussy" and "sissy" reverberated throughout his head. If only he saw the African American barber down on 49th street, rather than that faggot in the salon his mother rambled on about for a good half-hour. So predisposed and self conscious with his perceived image, John neglected to hear a rather important observation astutely made from Frankie. Or was it Joey. Anyway, this broad and her friends were on their way to the pad. Rumor had it, their skirts ran loose, and John, a prudent opportunist, saw this as a prime opportunity to compensate for lack of beautiful hair.
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