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Thomas "The Tomcat" Kapner

Thomas Kapner, called “The Tomcat”…

Okay, nobody called him Tomcat, but that’s not to say that he’d mind if anybody did. In fact, he’d probably blush, but it wouldn’t be a subtle, charming tint of the cheeks. It would begin at the rims of his abnormally large ears and spread henceforth across his pallid face, staining his countenance with red blotches resembling abstract countries of an old map.
I imagine that such a title might have slipped his thumbs beneath the thick straps of his lopsided suspenders, inflating his chest like the breast of one of the CPR dolls that practicing EMTs puff into with all they have. If he were called Tomcat, he might not have shown the world only the crown of his head, amiss a mass of autumn-red curls, as he walked slump-shouldered down the hall.
Thomas had many nicknames. Some referred to the gap between his front teeth (which he used to drink from straws with his jaw closed), and some remarked on the way that the majority of his mass gathered between his hips and his knees, giving him a similar silhouette to that of a squash, or a bowling pin, or one of the Russian dolls he kept in his locker.

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