Manly Man

He is about 31, young enough to still be young, old enough not to be icky, and he's handsome. Not cute. Not pretty. Not attractive. Handsome. Cinema handsome. Gladiator handsome. What with the strong jawline. The brilliant smile. Shoulders upon which you could set the weight of the world. He lives in the same building as I do and I run into him every now and then.

He always says 'Hello' to me and is very pleasant. He and I have chatted about jobs and stuff, friendly neighbourly stuff. Nothing personal, nothing more than the kind of thing you tell strangers who are not likely to become friends. He often rides his bike, which probably accounts for the strong, muscular thighs and the pert round ... anyways, I've joked with him about the fact that both of us get around on wheels. He thought that was really funny and he laughed a loud, deep, manly laugh.

So many men these days seem to really be in to grooming. So much so that they look too perfect, too ... I don't know ... moisturized. This guy looks great running his fingers through his hair and shaving the scruff off his face. He has the clean smell of soap. His clothes look good on him but don't look like he's spent huge amounts of time choosing them. You know the kind that takes forever to find. He'd look good on a ranch, in a bar, in a boardroom - in jeans.

We just ran into him moments ago, just before coming upstairs. He greeted us with warm tones. Joe said to me, once we got into the elevator, 'You know when I run into him when you aren't with me, he won't even acknowledge me. I've watched him, he snubs almost everyone in the building but you. Don't you think that his friendliness is discriminatory treatment probably based in some kind of prejudice about people with disabilities?"

I said, "Yeah, and in this case ... I don't give a rat's ass."