Randy

He was the kind of boy you looked at and immediatly though 'average'. Tall, brown hair, rather non-descript. His closet was filled with black, like most other boys his age. He laughed at the same things as other guys, liked the same kind of music, played guitar. He went out with your average thirteen your old girl who looked as if she never eaten a thing in her life, or, if she did, she threw it up right after. Same favorite subject (lunch), etc. etc. etc. In fact,  the only thing that immediatly popped out at you was that he wore pink. Not a lot, not enough to go, coughgaycough, but, still, the brands on his black shirts all had pink or purple on them.  Utterly boring.1

All of this you took in in one moment, seeing him with his arm around his girl, laughing with his friends. You didn't know him, but, as far as you could see, there was nothing special about him. As far as you could tell, there was no reason to go up to him and say hi. Looking at him, I didn't even see anything special. He was cute, but not hot, he was funny, but not spectacular. He didn't really talk about anything intresting, and he was crazy over his girl. There were far smarter, more intresting, sexier guys on campus, but, for some reason, I was completely crazy over him.2

I met him last year, we had a couple classes together, but I didn't really notice him. We hung with different crowds, had different friends, we were altogether different people. I was a preppy nightmare from hell, he was some cool-ass punk rocker dude who thought himself to cool for words.3