The bowtie was nestled atop a loose shirt button that he had meant to tighten, but had forgotten, as he forgets many things. He forgot to take a quick peek in the mirror, forgot to take out the trash, forgot to kiss his daughters goodbye before he let himself out.
Black triangles, and a circle in the Middle. Reluctantly hold the shirt closed of sexy men. Dapper.
Ruth
how to wear it without looking stuffy, that’s what penguins always wonder. but dogs never worry about that, cos they just bow wow every tie. girls like to wear ties, rather than bows, to wow their beaus
joce
Executioner’s formalwear,
Round the neck and in the air.
A tearful, quick goodbye,
Now don the hangman’s tie,
Then onward to this stuffy, strangling affair.
It was a clip-on, obviously. But he still looked pretty dapper. He makes the final preparations in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair into something that could pass as “put together”.
He wore a pink polka dot bowtie. It wasn’t the first time he decided to be a little ostentatious a children’s birthday party. The mother of the birthday boy liked the flamboyant types.
Mark watched as the intern stumbled over his too big feet and sent the papers in his arms flying in all directions. The boy toppled to the side, but scrambled back to his feet.
“Sorry, sir,” said the intern.
“Not a problem,” Mark lied. Annoyance mixed with apathy. “Just pick them up.”
The boy did so, then set the abused paperwork on Mark’s desk. He nervously fixed his dorky bowtie, paying to mind to his rumbled dress shirt.
He probably only has the one dress shirt, thought Mark. It hangs in his closet right next to his graduation gown.
“Stupid boy,” Mark muttered, bitterly as his smoothed a paper needing his signature. “Stupid boy,” he repeated, but no one cared.
ella
His bowtie was blue and white; it looked so clean, so new that he could not belive it, for he knew that that had been his father’s bowtie , passed down from generation to genaration as a family treasure.It had something magical and whimsical about it, but that he could not say what.
Roxana Costea
He stood out, looking at the city. His bowtie shifted in the breeze, as if it were waving at me. I hid in the shadows. “I know you’re there, Kara.” Taking a step forward, my hair caught in the same breeze. “I know you’ve been there for a while now.”
The bowtie was nestled atop a loose shirt button that he had meant to tighten, but had forgotten, as he forgets many things. He forgot to take a quick peek in the mirror, forgot to take out the trash, forgot to kiss his daughters goodbye before he let himself out.
Black triangles, and a circle in the Middle. Reluctantly hold the shirt closed of sexy men. Dapper.
how to wear it without looking stuffy, that’s what penguins always wonder. but dogs never worry about that, cos they just bow wow every tie. girls like to wear ties, rather than bows, to wow their beaus
Executioner’s formalwear,
Round the neck and in the air.
A tearful, quick goodbye,
Now don the hangman’s tie,
Then onward to this stuffy, strangling affair.
It was a clip-on, obviously. But he still looked pretty dapper. He makes the final preparations in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair into something that could pass as “put together”.
He wore a pink polka dot bowtie. It wasn’t the first time he decided to be a little ostentatious a children’s birthday party. The mother of the birthday boy liked the flamboyant types.
Bowties are cool.
dotted, party, free drink, waitress, high building, rich, art, music, fancy, smile, drug, alcohol
Mark watched as the intern stumbled over his too big feet and sent the papers in his arms flying in all directions. The boy toppled to the side, but scrambled back to his feet.
“Sorry, sir,” said the intern.
“Not a problem,” Mark lied. Annoyance mixed with apathy. “Just pick them up.”
The boy did so, then set the abused paperwork on Mark’s desk. He nervously fixed his dorky bowtie, paying to mind to his rumbled dress shirt.
He probably only has the one dress shirt, thought Mark. It hangs in his closet right next to his graduation gown.
“Stupid boy,” Mark muttered, bitterly as his smoothed a paper needing his signature. “Stupid boy,” he repeated, but no one cared.
His bowtie was blue and white; it looked so clean, so new that he could not belive it, for he knew that that had been his father’s bowtie , passed down from generation to genaration as a family treasure.It had something magical and whimsical about it, but that he could not say what.
He stood out, looking at the city. His bowtie shifted in the breeze, as if it were waving at me. I hid in the shadows. “I know you’re there, Kara.” Taking a step forward, my hair caught in the same breeze. “I know you’ve been there for a while now.”