He was a typical example of this generation’s male species. He wore brown leather moccasin-esque loafers, knees splayed out wider than his hips to claim his space and air out his balls properly. His jorts, which he probably would insist were cutoffs, were an old pair of jeans cut right above the knees. There were holes and faded places, but with today’s fashion industry one can never tell if the person is actually active enough to do that to their jeans or if it was a very clever machine and a bored designer. He had the usual careless slouch, his lower back not making contact with the back of the seat. His forearms were resting in the cut of his hips and his sweating water bottle was placed for maximum effect, directly in the center of his crotch, jutting out proudly as if to assure all potential suitors that yes, he is well endowed and he can get it up. With his slouch his stomach pooched out a bit, his grey t-shirt was loose enough to not make it glaringly noticeable. His sunglasses were hooked into the neck of his t-shirt and his head was ducked down to look at his phone, chin almost resting on his chest. His white baseball cap had no insignia or brands on it, and he had it un-ironically turned backwards, his dark hair short and a little messy underneath it. His thick rimmed glasses were Ray Bans and his facial hair was darker around his mouth, the mustache and goatee deliberate, the scruff up the side of his face most likely pure laziness. Hooked around his left pinky is his key-ring with multiple tags hanging off of the metal circles. Apparently, he is a member of Planet Fitness. Maybe he is one of those people who drive my friend insane by claiming gym equipment and then futzing on their phone for half an hour before actually working out. He has what looks to be swimming trunks in the hand holding his water bottle so maybe he has decided to beat the heat at Coney Island as well. His ears are not pierced and he has one or two glimmers of silver in his hair.