Character study

His hand rests

Middle digit cleft and cracked the evidence of childhood thievery detected by a clumsily flung car door

Safety crouches, along with hope, within that outstretched palm

I watch it, carefully, that cracked and deformed nail against denim blotted with oil that once dripped from now extinct hopes of breathing life into engines that died before I was born

Off rhythm tapping against the steering wheel radiating heat and a bass drum pounded pistonesque with new balance driven by their rods that must be steel or flesh but envied, no doubt, by Pelé himself

Big gulp placed at the base of a barrel, a shirt MUST be tucked in!

At least, while the safety belt is fastened, the leather one remains sheathed within loops

Sounds of Stones or a Zeppelin floating by surely haven't calmed the baby faced beast beneath the only haircut befitting a man (closely cropped, no sideburns, combed neatly from left to right)

Have they?

Surely not, but... steal a glance into that ageless face to see where I stand?

First, a glance down to see where I sit- posture, expression, hang of my clothes- all seemingly in order and not likely to offend

So, then- dare I lift my eyes?

And risk my momentary anonymity?

A fool's second thought rivals the wise man's first as his anger cannot be read in a face unmarred by hair nor line

Only the eyes foretell and a glance there would show only the reflection of trepidation in an aviator's lens

And that hand

I watch it, that cleavage at the end of his finger for when it disappears into the meaty mallet of a closed fist so follows safety