Tool

Tool’s face was marked by a port-wine-stain birthmark, which left a chip on his shoulder.

His temperament with reality was thinning like his hair.

To draw attention away from his face, he wore loud clothes — crushed red velvet pants, blue suede shoes, and silk shirts were unbuttoned to expose the hair on his chest.

In a fit of rage, he stole my library card, checked out two dozen rare and expensive books, and hid them beneath his bed.

“No one steals a library card!” the librarian shook, filled with skepticism.