HT 31

He once punched a magician. That’s right. You heard me. He once taught a German shepherd to bark in Spanish. He never says something tastes like chicken – not even chicken. He once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels. Even his enemies list him as their emergency contact number. He’s a lover, not a fighter, but he’s also a fighter, so don’t get any ideas. When it is raining, it is because he is thinking of something sad. His shirts never wrinkle. He is left-handed. And right-handed. If he were to mail a letter without postage, it would still get there. You can see his charisma from space. The police often question him, just because they find him interesting. His blood smells like cologne. The pheromones he secretes have been known to affect people miles away, in a slight but measurable way. His hands feel like rich brown suede. He owns three sports cars and rents five. He once taught a horse to read email for him. He is HT 31.