Literary Description

I'm hyper on mountain dew, and I'm bored. I like writing descriptions, so here we go.


He slid his card through the reader again, more forcefully this time, his lips only just starting to curl up in something of a scowl. Were it capable of any feeling whatsoever, the plastic box through which he slid his card would surely have begun to fear him; at six and a half feet, he surely wasn't someone most people felt comfortable frustrating, and rarely did they, though the card reader was doing its best. He slid his left sleeve back, checking his watch and revealing more of his pale arms, which suggested Scottish heritage -- residents of that windswept island rarely saw daylight -- and loosed a string of curses. He looked up and surveyed the area before the computer; noone was around. His posture suggested pride, even arrogance, both of which were especially lacking among employees of this particular retail establishment.

Cool blue eyes, framed by noble features and a shock of curly dark-brown hair, flitted amongst the occupants of the store, taking in each, making an analysis, and storing it away for later, when it could help him push second-rate products into their unsuspecting arms.

Another day, another dollar.

(Yeah, it's me, at work. I've been thinking about this one for a while.)