whiskeygrade:

 
04.23.14 /22:55/ 160
details:

Fashion Illustrations
04.23.14 /22:55/ 91

What’s the point of posting anything on here if no one sees it anyway?
I guess I can say anything then.

PURPLE FLYING BEAN MONSTERS

I guess it makes sense now.

wryer:

wryer:

I met a nice cat on the way home

this post is my greatest success

da-i-net:

Ну как на такое наступать? #cologne #streetart #germany #travel (в L’antipasto)
04.23.14 /22:22/ 13
untrustyou:

Arno Arno
04.23.14 /22:22/ 5291
justanothermasterpiece:

Ali Rashid.
04.23.14 /22:22/ 44
jthenr-comics-vault:

THE MIGHTY THOR #182 (Nov. 1970)Art by John Buscema & Joe Sinnott
04.23.14 /22:21/ 958
fohk:


untitled by Wang.Wei on Flickr.
04.23.14 /22:21/ 1875
death-by-elocution:

Camel me bad.
04.23.14 /22:21/ 1809
04.23.14 /02:07/ 71

10:30. My line had one more person than usual. My coffee tasted abnormally bitter. The table I always sit at had a dimmer light. The table I always sit at had someone else sitting there.
Eastern European, slicked back black hair with a widow’s peak, middle-aged, wearing a tan coat with disgustingly calculated movements. His generic look contradicted the venerated way he sipped his coffee.
He placed his right hand on the side of the cup, applied a surgical amount of pressure, raised it to this mouth as if tracing a knife’s blade, draining an exact amount of liquid. He shifted the cup to his left hand. He set down the cup seemingly without moving the air around it. The details of this man were formidably seductive.
Lured in; I asked if I could sit with him. He looked at me through his cheap sunglasses, flashed his small white teeth and like a bat politely hissed yes. I sat down. Slowly.
“What brings you here?” I asked in my usual executive tone as we looked out of the window at pedestrians walking by. He took slight notice of a man passing by. “Oh”, he paused, he slightly flared his nostrils “Just visiting”. His tone was a murder.
He seemed occupied. I opened my newspaper to the business section as I ran my eyes about the stock numbers. A few minutes of him observing me he planned his strikes. He stated “You work in the bank across the street”, he turned slightly towards me, “don’t you”. He left his mouth slightly open eager for his correct response. I did work in the bank across the street; my heart rate increased. In his peripheral vision he saw the pulse on my wrist increase. He was hungry.
“Why yes I do”. I strangely felt an odd comfort answering his questions. Like a child in a twisted daycare. “Tell me”. He barely moved his mouth while his voice danced a ballet. “Do you like your job?”
He took off his sunglasses with his right hand. His hazardous eyes were of maroon color with pinpoints of crimson red. These eyes have questioned many questions and answered many questions. Without as much of a twitch in his pupils he saw everything. I felt that he knew more than where I work. I knew it.
A millisecond late I answered “Why yes I do”. I held my breathe. He took notice of an other man walking by.
He atrociously sipped his coffee. He noticed my slight pause. “I’m visiting a man like you”. I think he noticed that in the very back of my head I thought that he might be looking for me. What would this intricate maroon eyed man want from me? I started to sweat underneath my suit. I shifted my seating. He flared his nostrils and breathed in. He blinked a millisecond too long.
He put his forearms on the table and mechanically interlocked his fingers. He was now completely facing me. I had to resist my natural response to back away as to not spring a trap. With unshattered eye contact “Don’t worry. It’s not you. It’s the man who just walked by”. My heart was about to explode.
A second later someone walked by. The maroon eyed man repositioned his sunglasses symmetrically. Draining the rest of his coffee his wiped the edges of his thin, pale mouth. His calculations were broken as he overstepped getting out of his chair. He reeked of a hunt. His instincts were toned as the metal of the handle he palmed in his pocket. With his back slightly arched and steps planned five ahead, he left.


I think I just accidently had brunch with Hannibal Lecter.

Canvas  by  andbamnan