It was the pants. That day I found out too many compliments can turn a man sour. Mr. Romo, upon receiving compliments, becomes the poetic hulk. He writes to express his pride but anger only ensues. He takes the pent up rage out on his students. Terror.
The bike, Mr. Romo riding the streets with knee and elbow pads complete with helmet, one of those visors on it. There is a serious/sad look on his face while he peddles, bottles strapped to the back of his bike, messenger bag at his side. He rides home to girls.
Mr. Romo, sitting at his desk, he is reading, he is asking for more time, he is looking at the floor. Mr. Romo’s only expression is sad. He can only be sad, he’s looking at the computer, I’m not sure what at, I’m guessing Twitter. Even while handing the office aide the attendance he looks forlorn. Dear Mr. Romo, feel better, take care.