He would make a colorful character in a comic book:
Cue stick in one hand, cigarette in the other, and eyes that sink your heart.
He stalks the table with an economy of movement, seeing shots that no one else sees.
He would make a typical character in a Heinlein novel:
Tall, dark, sharp, and competent.
He transmits the beauty of his movements into geometry on felt.
He would make a perfect character in a Tarantino film:
Brooding, intense, protective, and loyal.
He points his stick at the 2, and nods to the corner pocket with confidence.
He makes a good friend, to those that know him:
You would let him pack your parachute.
He judges character as quickly as he can judge a table.
He would make a great hero, in this complicated world:
If he could un-remember the experiences he wishes hadn’t made him but did.
I sit in the corner, sipping my drink, seeing the man that he doesn’t see.