Opposite Me is a master of Technology. No, not just Master, he is beyond that skill level. Not once in his life has he read an instruction manual, because he intuits the ineer mysteries of every machine he touches. Opposite me never learned to read. It is a source of deep shame, and he hides his illiteracy quite well. No books can be found in his spartan apartment. "Everything I need to know is online," he explains to his acquaintences. His computer system is past top-of-the-line, and he spends thousands of dollars every month upgrading it.
Opposite Me keeps his long hair tied in a ponytail that reaches his waist. His contact lenses change his eye colour to a rich, deep green. His clothes are always immaculately clean, and always the latest fashions. Brand name clothing is the only kind he wears. He purchases a new car every year, but not from a car dealership. He gets them custom-made, and installs "extras" that straddle the lines of legality. Hidden guns, EMP-grenades, armour plating, hidden compartments. Everything somebody would need to live a life on the run.
Not that he needs to. Nothing he does is technically illegal, and the large sums of money he gets for his jobs support his lavish expenditures. Never does he do the same thing in his line of work; every day there is a new employer. Unfortunately, this means he never has a chance to make friends with anyone. He fills this void in his life with alcohol, cigarets, and the occasional tab of X.
Opposite Me is incredibly lonely. He goes to nightclubs in an attempt to stave off the soul-crushing solitude that nearly defines his life. When he returns home, he retires to his bed, the only part of his life that is not brand new. It is an old, old mattress, set in the corner of his bedroom. His blanket is military surplus, and his pillow is a folded towel. He does not dream.
I'm glad I'm not Opposite Me.