Looks like you've caught me most of the way through a three-quarter turn. Again. Good thing I'm often prepared for just such an occasion. As you can see, my eyebrow is lifted just enough to say, "Woah there, where'd you come from?", but if you look closer, it's also saying, "Not that I didn't expect it."
Oh yeah. Just like that. My hair just did that. Just another inch. And. There. Perfect hair. You can just tell I didn't care what my hair did for this photo. It's so messy. And it only took three hours of subtle refinement. You'd better believe it.
That's what they call smouldering, bro. Like my wife's just been killed by Russian terrorists, but I'm too angry to grieve. Like we're toe-to-toe on a clocktower, and you've knocked the Glock from my hand, but there's still enough cool determination in me to take you on, even with your flamethrower.
I'm so at home in this thick turtleneck, it's not even funny. I'm a cool breeze wafting off the Riviera. I'm looking straight into the sun, but you know I'm not even going to blink. Just that slight squint. Bogey and Bogart rolled into one.
Beard? Optional. Cleavage? Personal.
I'm not really standing in front of Niagra Falls. That's just a blue screen. It's not really blue, either. It's green. And I assume that's Niagra Falls, but it's really just water. The important thing is my chin. We can all agree on that.
Breathe. Just fucking breathe. In. Out. Just like that. Don't try to make the breaths even, dammit. Three seconds in, three seconds out? No fucking way. Makes your pulse go weird. A shorter one in and a longer one out. Just don't think about it. Who spends so fucking long thinking about breathing?