Intelligence is beautiful

Face.
No.
Eyes.
Eyes as blue as the sky.
No. Bluer. More blue than the sea or the sky or anything blue for that matter. Complex. Complex thoughts can be seen through the eyes. Eyes that examine every detail and attract the attention of any student who looks in his direction.
Blue. The color of the stripe that lies obediently upon his chest on more than a regular basis. For every day, there is a stripe. A single stripe that lies upon the man’s chest. Standing. With hands in his pockets he stands. The pants. Sweat pants. No. Cargo.
Simply:
Swargo.
So his hands are in the pockets of his sweat- no swargo pants as he stands in front of his students. The man speaks, and he begins to laugh at his own comments. He laughs at himself, displaying a small grin, which does not overwhelm his face, but is obvious to all who gaze upon him. His head cocks to the side and shakes ever so slightly, giving life to his subtle smile.
He lifts his hand up to his head and quickly but purposefully pushes to the side of his forehead his graying blonde bangs.
He continues to speak. The room is filled with silence as he paces in front of his two-dozen students. One foot moves in front of the other as a collage of elegant phrases leaves his mouth.
Logos
Ethos
Pathos
Words unknown to all but him. He knows most are impressed and he becomes empowered. The middle-aged man, who has not taught in many years, regains his desire. The desire to influence.
So while discussing the art of persuasion, he ultimately persuades his students into following his every direction. But willing are those students who find themselves forever intrigued by the eyes. The smirk. The passion.