Baz Rose - Sunday morning confrontation of newly-ex.

Baz’s appearance, when he eventually answered the door ... unshaven, barefoot and wearing old jeans and a misshapen university sweatshirt, had further pointed up the differences between them.  

His stubble-shadowed unkemptness also exacerbated his undeniable ugliness ...   He was ugly, his features large and over-mobile, surrounded by folds and crevices of flesh which added to the expressiveness of his words but removed all likelihood of him ever being referred to as ‘chisel-featured’.   His near-black curls were abundant and unruly, always over-long, although presumably he did go to the barbers reasonably regularly, and his sideburns hinted at some gypsy past.   (The lack of red-spotted neckerchief created a small desire, at least in some female observers, to place, initially their fingertips in the hollow of his throat.)   His nose had been broken in his youth, ‘more than once’ and his mouth, also over-large, was asymmetric.  

His eyes were his best feature, dark, and shiny as well-oiled olives, habitual merriness indicated by the sunburst of pale lines at the outer corner of each eye, and his every remark was emphasised by surprisingly well-shaped black eyebrows. 

At first sight he could be taken for a taller-than-average gondolier with pugilistic proclivities.  At second sight, but again solely to female observers, he might still suggest gondolier, but the overwhelming impression was of a devastating sexiness, in a bad, guilt-inducing sort of way.