Ray

Ray has gray hair, flecked with black. He wears years of hard work on his face. I admire the deep lines and wrinkles, which remind me of an old, broken-in, catcher’s mitt. When I shake his hand, it’s like shaking a leather glove that was wet and dried in the sun. His hand feels hard and unpleasant.  That’s the kind of rugged, manly handshake that I’d like for myself and hope that this job will help me in that endeavor.