— Don't do that.
— Do what?
— The look.
— Look?
— You're doing the look again.
— Well, I can't see it, can I? It's my face.
— Yes and you're doing a "We both know what's really going on here" face.
— We do.
— No, I don't, which is why I find the face so annoying.
For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story.
But even that was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.
We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under. . . The fourth category, the rarest, is the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers.
— l seen the way you look at him.
— What? How do l... How do l look at him?
— Like you just seen your first Trans Am.
On film you put all your energies into a single glance.
Humans were built to look back; that's why we have that swivel joint in our necks.
If looks could kill you would be a fucking shot gun.
His eyes glowed with a dark, quiet look of loneliness.
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