The Flamingo

He wasn’t exactly hard to miss. Out of everyone I saw that day, I remember him the most vividly, with his pale pink undercut and smooth features. He stood across the space of the room, hands in his pockets, steel colored t-shirt clinging to his lean body. He was not muscular, but had defined muscles and seemed to be well. Out of everybody, he stood out to me, hair like pink lemonade.

The Flamingo was quick to wit, sarcastic, bored, all while staying distinct in his minor presence. His speech mirrored this, every conversation like throwing a bean bag back and forth with each clever comment. Although, The Flamingo did not seem to acknowledge his own esprit. He smirked every now and again, I observed, when I showed the same badinage. Every word bounced from The Flamingo to myself and back again. However, it was not often that we played this game if tennis.

Regardless, The Flamingo stands out to me, with his hair like pink lemonade. For, he wasn’t exactly hard to miss.


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