An ordinary boy.

Look at him dimly, the ordinary boy. With prep trousers and sweater, school emblem and a letter. Could be an exact replica of Lorenzo Lamas from Grease, or any other clueless, think-inside-the-box, squared-jawed jock who rides along with the establishment and never has a creative thought or questions anything. Never really struggles, because his beliefs and his future are given to him. What a fucking bore. I'll bet his love life is boring as hell too, no matter how hard he tries to do the right thing, practices it like it's a drill. All-American morons, just don't have it in them to be dynamic or find the rhythm of jazz, of love, the pulse of life. The movement of paint or the sunbursts inside a lens. They are a step slow at everything, miss all that's important, take everything for granted. Their only virtue is being stable. Stable because anything about people which is interesting is missing from their DNA, so there's not a whole lot left that can go wrong. And people love them for it. There goes our hero they say, watch him go! But I say watch him slowly. This emperor's got no clothes, yet they love him with all they have. And that love, in its most towering and transcendent moments of combustion, is something he can never know inside his ordinary heart.