Two days ago
It was like all of a sudden I could categorize him as a single stereotype. I could see him on TV in a cheesy high-school sitcom from the 80s; the smart, sarcastic guy who smokes American cigarettes and wears wire-rimmed glasses to coffee houses in the heart of the city, to listen to the local beat poets and experimental jazz artists. His wardrobe consists mainly of black because "someone dies every day", and he dresses for the occasion. This character has no depth and relies solely on his above-average story-telling skills, vocabulary, and biting sarcastic remarks.
He was telling a story I'd heard him tell before, but it took me a moment to register that I'd actually heard it and wasn't just experiencing deja-vu. The man facing him laughed at the appropriate times, not realizing how rehearsed the string of words unraveling from his mouth were. I cringed inwardly at the forced jokes and puns, one-liners and perfectly sarcastic comments.
This man didn't live life, he practiced it.
He was telling a story I'd heard him tell before, but it took me a moment to register that I'd actually heard it and wasn't just experiencing deja-vu. The man facing him laughed at the appropriate times, not realizing how rehearsed the string of words unraveling from his mouth were. I cringed inwardly at the forced jokes and puns, one-liners and perfectly sarcastic comments.
This man didn't live life, he practiced it.