#88 Beat Critic

You’d be mousy if it wasn’t for the sneer. A black bob of sheer black hair, above a pale broad face with down sloped eyes. A perpetually unhappy mouth. The nose is slightly in the air, giving a sense of you looking down on me, the room, everything. Straight white shoulders of an expensive jacket and just below the top of your cleavage sits a loose black undershirt. You are unmoving, almost unblinking, the eyes staring down the nose. There is laughter somewhere underneath, just below the surface, and if you aren’t careful it will start at your mouth and rise into the corners of your eyes.