My eyes fell upon him immediately. The curious observation wasn’t spawned by his looks; although his features were anything but ordinary they didn’t generate a handsome or attractive face. I had met him before, this boy, and was rather surprised to find myself riveted by his seemingly inconsequential visage. A smug smile was forced from within as my gaze ran over him twice and then again. The way he acted, the simple way that he sat was absolutely captivating. The players around him tuned their instruments, sitting up properly and upright as expected as he smirked at the floor in front of him with squinted eyes. His dress matched that of the orchestra, naturally; he donned the same vest and uniform black pants, but his white shirt was the only wingtip with a French cuff. The high collar embraced his neck and framed his debonair, arrogant face ever so nicely. I noticed, rather quickly, that he had rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows. The position he took in his chair was one that allowed the white shirt to flow smoothly down his arm before encountering the rolled fabric, and then that stretch of bare skin. When juxtaposed with the upright, starched and pressed boy in second chair next to him the semblance contained in this boy was enthralling. The aristocratic collar, the slackened back, the arrogant, open mouth, the casually yet beautifully rolled sleeve, it was all alluring, nice. I watched him as he slouched in his chair, with his upper back arched, his head raised and eyes on the floor, with a hand slung by his chair. His oboe swung in his completely relaxed left hand, and he didn’t move until the performance started.

When it did, however, he didn’t jolt upward and nervously finger his instrument like all those around him. He remained completely blasé, and when the time came, he slowly lifted the oboe to his mouth and began to play. It was entertaining; I knew exactly what he was doing, but I didn’t read it as such. As he played I almost saw the smoke from his Thai opium pipe curl up and surround his unperturbed face. I could picture him, such as many others, partaking of the drug simply to further think; I could see him stare off normally as he continued to inhale and slowly exhale. He adjusted the mouthpiece a couple of times, but remained for the most part as if in stone, sitting intelligently, his unconcerned eyes half closed, forever divinely insolent.