Written Photograph

Wisps of chestnut hair fall lightly on his unruffled forehead. Earlobes protrude from underneath his fashionably unkempt hair. Dangling from these fleshy gewgaws is a pair of earphones; the black jelly-wire frames the lower half of his face. He doesn’t react at all to the music escaping from the beetle-like speakers in his ears. Whatever he is listening to serves less as entertainment and more as a means to drown out the café babble around him so he can focus on the paperback in his delicate hands. In fact his entire willowy body seems to arch over the fantasy novel in attempt to enter the magical fiefdom contained within. He bites his tender pink lips - in all probability still unkissed - and squints in concentration as his brown as ale eyes trail the words on the page. An impish asymmetrical grin appears on his face for a fleeting second but his expression contorts back into concentration almost instantaneously.

He is cherub faced if such a cherub were amid the whirlpool of puberty. Blotches of scarlet appear around his oily temples and chin where acne molehills seem ready to erupt at any second. A faint shadow is busily rooting itself above the upper lip, destined to grow darker and denser in the coming years.

Despite it being a few sizes too big, he wears his t-shirt with apparent honour. This black garment demonstrates his allegiance to some Scandinavian metal band or other. It also makes his skin appear paler and pastier. His gawky frame hangs loosely from his shoulders as a bathrobe does from a hanger. His legs stretch out awkwardly underneath the table, right foot now tapping away idly. A hand leaves the book and reflexively flicks away the silky strands on his brow. He shifts himself into a more comfortable position, angling his body and resting his head on his hand.