VOTED HARRISBURGS HOTTEST GUY!!!

My name is Phil, I have chronic disassociative sociopathic behavioral consistency and when I'm engaged in conversation I'm generally fantasizing about pursuing my acquaintance around his/her backyard with a 3/8th pitch carbon steel edged chainsaw over my head. I do massive amounts of combined drugs, disrespect girls, and loiter after hours in public areas in which I don't belong. If I'm your type, contact me immediately to discuss the possibility of meeting in an unfamiliar desolate area. And if you hadn't already figured it out, that was all sarcasm.
Trying to describe myself is like trying to describe the shape of water. We are in constant transformation according to our environment. Who I am, and what I consist of is a constellation of specific attributes pooled from every degree in 360. My eyes chase the rhythm of light. The sun, the shadows, reflection upon reflection; an attempting to find new perspectives in the bleeding light. My ears, orchestrate music in the free falling precipitation of sound. The wind whispers an afterthought, a man mumbles to himself; a car slams into another. My experiences run thick through my veins. Each step I take is profound, and every direction I turn presents new dangers and opportunities. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Day after day the faces slide by in a rush of light and color. Everyone dashing by in masses of blurred humanity. Their faces pale splotches of color amidst the multicolored swirl. Streaming like a river down the streets and over North Bridge. Flowing and merging as they dash up Main Street. Their brightly colored scarves snapping in the chill breeze. My heels click as I step off the sidewalk and into the gutter. Pressing through the crowd as I traverse the crosswalk. A piece of trash skitters across the street rattling hollowly. Something makes me look up, maybe a lull in the incessant wail of traffic. A breeze blows the loose hair from my face, and there you are. Your face suddenly looms large and clear in contrast with the indistinct jumble. Everything is still; the gray masses recede until we are alone on the empty street. One step at a time you grow closer until your face fills my sight. Then abruptly you pass; a siren wails sharply, and the multitude leaps into action. Yet I turn; your gaze penetrates the masses, and I can see only you.