You could often catch him standing in front of the mirror, masquerading and impersonating – not afraid of making a complete ape out of himself. It often tickles my intrigue to understand the psyche of such behavior which most people just flatly refuse to latch onto. His animated yet registered expressions on every account never demurred with his true and somewhat quixotic intentions. A few moments later, he would con you with words and get the best of you in a matter of seconds. Some time later, he would throw in a maxim or two and bottle you up with explicit admiration. And if you are about to go ballistic with love for our character here, it would take some expletive terminology to bring your feet back to the ground.
Many a times you could find him trigger-happy, goldbrickering about with curbed liveliness. He would slack in front of the box, too idle and too hassle-free that it would pester your very senses. Then, to stir you more, he would veto every call to action with indifference. Comical? I think so too. Rarely, he would realign himself idly in the same posture. For a jiffy there, you would think the phase of indolence is long past. Alas! He wouldn’t trash another second to prove you wrong…yet again! The spell of inactivity would hover on him for hours. He was indeed incorrigibly persistent with this routine that dawned after every two days (rough estimate).
Glutton, no. Connoisseur, yes. His rosy canvas of pasty skin glowed with vivacity whensoever his appetite was content to the fullest. Food was more like an object of lust whereupon leaving any trace of left-overs was considered sacrilege. Every crumb was scraped off followed by gratified moans of satisfaction. Each meal was ingested by swarms of burps and a multitude of flatulence. Pot-bellied in days, the course for each grub was somewhat alike – unless ofcourse our character happened to dine outside which is a whole new ballgame. Feast like kings never befitted anyone more.