Day One

He holds a stare like a gun. You can tell its heavy, loaded. I bet he likes his own company and forgets people watch him. I like his sense of recognition. Well, what I sense of his sense.
I refuse to believe people have poor memories.
If you don’t remember or worse pretend you don’t remember, you’re dead to me. He remembers, or at least he doesn’t pretend he has never laid eyes on me before. I’d like to know him.