Just Some Guy With A Mustache Novels & Stories

He leaned on the wall, pulled out a smoke, he was just about to lit it when he noticed two birds,they were sort of communicating. The street was littered with all sort of dirt, smelled of strong sewage and animal dump. "The man knows what he wants" a man with shorts that displayed his hairy legs said. He had box that looked almost like a bag and a briefcase. "Look am just saying we've got a huge problem at hand,chief is a serious guy,tough guy,trust me,his gat his hand on them,they don't know it yet" an older guy replied,talking and looking back at Tom who was standing a few feet from them, he was pretending to be only interested in his smoke.

I said and looked at the star of her name, I pulled my phone to take a picture but there was an obese guy standing on it. "Excuse me, can you move please?" I asked the guy, he turned around with two hot dogs on his hand and tomato sauce on his lips. "Nah bro, leave me alone." He said to me and turned around. "What the fuck is wrong?" Nate asked as he looked at the obese guy who wouldn't move and made me pissed, again. "This shitface won't move." I gritted between my teeth. "Let me do it." He sighed but I stopped him.

Of course, it was his own side of the story, and I wonder what bozo will support a Funker like him. Standing this close to him made me see his features well. If I didn't know him and saw him outside, I would mistake him for a respectable foreigner, but glad I don't judge by looks. Jet black hair with a brown bear plaited with beads attached to it, and a little mustache, goes perfect for a monster. Trying not to snicker, I jerked my face away from his grip. I yanked the metal on my wrist, the noise filling the room.

I had to crane my neck to look up at his face. Jeez. The guy was huge. Was he over two meters tall? I wondered if he played basketball. He had dark hair and thick black eyebrows that framed his deep brown eyes. His nose was sharp but slightly crooked, and his high cheekbones were covered by a few days’ worth of stubble, giving him a rugged, s.exy edge. His full lips curved into a smirk. Great. Another rich, hot playboy. What was it with the men around here?

she murmurs. We watch as the man with the mustache approaches, his gait forced and exaggerated, with Donald coming from the field. A wide, strained smile stretches across his wrinkled face. “Sir Jonathan! What an honor it is to have you here unexpectedly,” The moustache man exclaims, his voice taut with tension as he extends a hand for a shake. It's funny how humble the inhumane idiot can be when faced by a more powerful person. "Where is Prince William? We haven’t heard from him in quite some time.”

Then half-naked girls in bikinis rushing out of frame giggling, and then I see him. Don Melconi. Bald head glistening. Thick mustache curled like a villain. Tanned skin from decades of Italian sun. His gold rings flash as he brings a fat cigar to his mouth and exhales a long cloud of smoke. He’s sitting in a Jacuzzi. In the middle of some ridiculous villa. Shirtless. Wet. And looking bored as hell. “I don’t have time,” he grunts. “You better be worth it.” I straighten. “I appreciate you making the time, sir. My name is—”

he asked, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a fake mustache that matched my hair. "You had that in your pocket?" I asked, amused, and he shrugged. "Nope, I don't need one," I said, focusing on the road. I turned back to see him pouting, and that made me feel a little guilty. It was just a mustache. Even though I would never do that to myself, there was nothing wrong in just putting one on for Christopher. We drove in silence while I tried to convince myself that I didn't need the mustache, but as we got closer to the hospital, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.

Did he just add me to his contact list? I quickly look at the picture of Mr. Adkins posing with a dog. It’s old and grainy, and I curse my own profile picture—a sunny day with Humphrey in my arms, wearing only a bikini. I’m laughing loudly at the camera, Mason having just told a funny joke. 'Is typing...' My breath catches in my throat. -Mr. Grumpy: Liar Nerves race through me. There is so much... tension in that one word. -Norali: It’s true. I took the liberty of marking some important things.

What kind of ability user was he? Seeing they remained silent, Ray asked again, "Is one of you named Igor?" "I'm here," a man's voice replied. The villa's front door opened, and a man around thirty stepped out. He had begun growing the characteristic mustache style, and even his clothing was distinctly Jayzepanese. If not for his supernatural ability, he would surely have frozen to death. Yet, he stood there in the bitter cold without the slightest sign of discomfort. "Who are you?" Igor asked. His accent carried no trace of foreignness—he sounded like a native-born local.

I'm a monstrosity. Plastering a huge grin on my face, I do my best not to freak out when this guy’s face comes into view. My goodness, his striking emerald eyes, chiseled jawline with chin stubble and a mustache that hasn’t been shaved in a while, have my heart beating a mile a minute.