ages slowly. he's around 80 in dog (rick) years and sometimes acts like it: ‘i was in 'nam’ mentality but shockingly liberal.
sleazy gentleman. he'll call a pretty lady some questionable petnames but he's not actively redpilled. loves women and even the queers too. (his words)
immortal, not invulnerable. he can survive a bullet to the chest but it hurts like hell when it happens.
not a stuntman, not famous, not a clip farmer. just gets drunk and runs his mouth off to the wrong people, sometimes stumbles on and off the wrong roofs too.
another time he introduced himself as John Wayne. when the girl had laughed and asked 'like the cowboy?' he had said, 'no, like the killer,' and hit her in the temple with a tire iron before she could run.
creature of observation he is. flush in the cheeks, twiddling fingers, an inability to take a compliment. negligent parents and a just—achiever in high school. blood's in the water and it smells like wine, it's dripping in a trail behind the rocking of heels, sings like
hi—hats when it falls to the floor, like uncomfortable giggles because someone like him bothered to give you the time of day and it'll make all of yours from now until you die.
he circles like predator to pray, smiles all teeth like a wolf, laughs low when you shiver.
reckon you'd lose yer sellin' points if y'did that, yeh? yer clientele's just a few years shy of being wuornos victims, surely they appreciate a wee southern belle jumping into their semi truck.