And when he came from the other side of the bridge, my heart was jammed up again, damn it! This is the guy from the coffee shop, not the Joe Black that Susan has a crush on.
The Pete of ten years ago, with clear eyes, a haircut of three to seven points, and a clean chin.
He stood in front of the wise old man, with a deterrent look, a non-negotiable tone, and a resolute edge. . . He is the god of death, he is the king!
Then, he stood dumbfounded at the table; he licked his peanut butter-soaked spoon greedily; he looked at Susan, restless and overwhelmed. . . He is nothing, just a young boy!
He seemed to know everything, but he didn't seem to understand anything. One second, he was brazenly arrogant to the media tycoon Bill; the next second, he timidly stepped forward to explore life.
He's a kid, playing swivel chairs on the board, chewing cookies, and eating peanut butter for dinner.
He is a prince, so frank between likes and dislikes, so decisive at the moment of choice.
I laughed when he said "I like the smell of you" and "My knees are weak": what an honest kid.
I laughed when he said "I'm an IRS Investigator" and made Juul stunned: what a smart prince.
Ten years ago, Pete was still able to play as a triangle. A lovable character, a strong figure, and a handsome face, such a god of death is as perfect as a god. Meet Joe Black, huh, if you can, who wouldn't?
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