His beauty could have been his greatest gift. One imagines he grew up in the wide-open air of Texas, his soft skin kissed by golden fields of wheat, his lashes shaped by the struggle for grace under a relentless sun. A Midnight Cowboy, lost on city streets.
A fisherman without a hook, he was destined to be caught by others, to follow a fate he never quite understood, leaving a trail of chaos that faded with time. To women of a certain age, he was youth personified; to late-night revelers, he was the life of the party; to the elite of Palm Beach, he was the perfect companion for nature walks. His beauty was a currency spent in service of others.
Now, a bloated electrician in New Jersey, his once-entrancing allure worn away by the passage of time. Such is the curse of beauty: it is fleeting.
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