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i can see him there, outside my door, one hand on the knob. leather gloves with pronounced seams and a matching black leather jacket, with faded jeans and shit kicking harley boots. i can smell him and i can feel where his hair touches his shoulders, curling up at the ends with blonde streaks from the sun. he has no face. he has lips, cheekbones, eyes, put together like a composite sketch on a most wanted list, blacked out because it's just better looking that way. i hear the low rumble of his voice like a motorcycle engine and wolf growling. i hear the low rumble of his voice as he asks if he can come in.