He wore a pretty large wig, which had once been white, but was now of a browniſh yellow; his coat was one of thoſe modeſt-coloured drabs which mock the injuries of duſt and dirt; …
Glancing over the crowd as if looking for someone there, his piercing gaze caught my eye. With that one casual eye lock, I would have expected violins to begin to play and all motion to be suspended while I tried to catch my breath.
I love bad whiteboys, the really skanky sort of white-trash ones, you know, the ones that surf or live in the woods or just got out of prison, the dudely ones who’re sort of closeted but really straight-acting, those are the ones I always fall for.
About your raise: it's a big maybe.
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