He wasn’t handsome then. Not like he is now. He was a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid, a line of sweat around his buzz cut. Nope. Not a thing handsome about that kid. But he had something. Swagger. That’s what they would call it now. Back then, we would have said confidence. But either way, I couldn’t possibly forget. He still had it. It was a quality you could see clearly, as though you could reach out and touch it. It was a quality you couldn’t help but be drawn to.
