Opprobrium
He entered with his face first, white and pale, filled with pimples eroding his hidden forehead, crimson cheeks and stumpy porous chin strewn with short rigid whiskers .
Slowly exposing himself, his hair matted and filthy stretching down to his scrawny shoulders, hunched and curved from years of closely observing.
Extending his arms to her, elongated and rawboned, burned and scarred, the veins magnified and pulsating, the tendons creeping through his white flaking skin.
His palms open and inviting, worn and calloused, rough and blistered, with arthritic fingers containing scratched nails with surrounding hangnails.
He pushed the door aside and fully exposed himself, his body hidden by the two inch moveable wall of metal was thrust out of defense, its smooth cold handle clicking as it locked back into place.
His shirt freshly washed, covering a contrast between white and glowing, scented with a bit of spring and still stiff on his chest from blowing in the wind, his deodorant revealed as his scent drifted forward.
His pants worn and often used, baggy and oversized for his gaunt figure, held by a black belt with a customizable silver buckle.
The shoes he wore a given, nothing swank or special, just a standard Vans, black with a white stripe across it fit for a giant, for his feet did not fit his body.
Looking at her with his eyes, green or blue, one can not always tell, they stood their ground, they stayed true, they stayed steady.
He waited and listened, his ears, one lobed and one not, glazed with a layer of stale wax, not trained for rejection.
He spoke, parting his red slim lips opening his mouth, unmasking his foul teeth, covered with plaque releasing brilliant yellows and oranges with the occasional black.
He waited for a response, pursing his lips, a smile was rare and a definite nonappearance at this point.
She looked at him one final time, turned, and left forever, leaving him there perpetually lost.