His eyes looked as though they were taken over solely by pupils; so dark, so deep, so full of mystery; those eyes that locked mine and wouldn't let me free, not that I would ever want to be free from those eyes anyway.
He brought his hand up to his lips, taking a drag of his cigarette that was nestled between his index and middle fingers.
His elbow rested on his bent knee, the smoking cigarette creating whimsical swirls around is head that was slowly leaning back against the tree trunk that was serving as his backrest.
Slowly his lips parted, allowing a puff of smoke to escape.
All of his movements were slow, almost comatose, yet they seemed to be strong and full of power at the same time.
He took another slow drag from his cigarette and moved his fingers to that it was now held between his thumb and index fingertips. Then with a practiced fluid motion he flicked it to the ground, covering the bud with the heel of his black leather boot.
A large final cloud of smoke exited through his slightly parted lips and traveled up his face, temporarily shielding me from his eyes.
Oh boy am I in trouble.