Kearston

“My gaze landed and stuck on deep brown skin, covered with the blue-black lines of permanent graffiti. It swathed both of his arms – powerful arms, with thick biceps – disappearing under the tight-fitting sleeves of a black tee shirt that stretched over his chest, then appearing again at his neck, stopping somewhere under his jaw. The glossy ends of two braids rested on his shoulders, their origins hidden under a black cap pulled backward on his head. He had kind eyes, and that made me feel a little safer. Just a little.”
― Christina C. Jones, Wonder