Subject: He had an uncanny resemblance to a crouching bowling ball.
Posted on: 2017-07-20 06:02:26 UTC
He was squat and round, wide-shouldered and bumpy, padding in awkwardly, bumping against guests and knocking poorly shined shoes against table legs and saying 'Phwor, pardon!' He resembled a bowling ball in both dignity and appearance. This was a fact that he was deeply aware of, and he took advantage of it. The bowling ball theme for his mask, he thought, was a brilliant plan, and the only thing that could possibly go wrong would be a chance meeting with somebody else, or, even worse, a chance meeting with exactly ten somebody elses themed after bowling pins. The havoc would be unstoppable, maybe moreso because he was terrible at bowling. The mask covered his head, went over and around and stopped right at his mouth. He was grinning like he had seen something funny. He was grinning like a wiseguy punk who found many things funny. The jacket was red, the shirt was black, the tie was white. He had seen Billy Joel wear something similar, and it had looked very good on Billy Joel. How good it looked on him was a subjective matter that he, for now, had let slip from his mind. He was still very proud about the 'bowling ball' theme. So he stood there, looked around, and grinned. He knew his friends. He'd recognise them in a second. All he needed to do was wait for all these blithely wandering strangers to move out the way, give him a clear path of sight. That was all. He grinned like he had seen something funny.