El Riconcito de Psicología... | home
I looked at him and he was looking at me. It was as if the only thing I could see in him was his tanned face. I'm not a criminal or anything, but with this man, it was different. I felt an uncontrollable urge to destroy him, to take out his eyes, to pull his nose, and to wipe off his smile.
I felt as if I had known him my whole life, I almost could remember his name, Mr… I can't recall. He had this unforgettable mocking smile, a bit covered by his black perfectly trimmed mustache. His eyes were a bit covered by his antique yellow glasses, but I could still see that they were wide open. It was as if they were about to pop out of his face and I wanted to be the one to pull them out. His nose was very ordinary, and oval. It was just as silly looking as the rest of him. From its reddish color, I could conclude that he was suffering from a great nasal allergy condition. I was worried of saying anything out loud because maybe his big pink ears, which looked like satellite dishes, might hear me a mile away. That man was very badly dressed. He wore some elegant white gloves and a green baseball cap and blue sneakers.
Still, he had this indescribable effect on me. It was as if there was some type of chemistry between us, and yet I wanted to tear him down to pieces. With just one glare at him, thousand of childhood memories filled my mind. But what is his name? Oh yeah, now I remember, Mr. Potato Head!
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