He wears skinny ties. He has a loud voice and quiet eyes.
He is clever and works very hard. He has immense privilege. I watch him closely.
Mr. Miller seems to enjoy animosity, so perhaps I shouldn’t give him what he craves. I remind myself that he was once a chubby little baby, with balled-up fists, looking out from his stroller at lights and shadows. Even today, he’s really just a guy in a little suit he has chosen so carefully that it breaks my heart.
I scroll through the images and I’m delighted. “Miller would really hate this,” I think.
Unfortunately for her, probably not in exactly the way she intended it to be.