You know, I think Richard lives in that building.
That building of red brick.
Old. Got personality.
Windowsills with flowers, remember?
Yeah. Richard lives there.
He's rich. He's an incredibly successful cosmologist.
He's worked with the History Channel, the BBC...
He's become a cosmology-celebrity.
He's a new Hawking, that's who Richard is.
That's why his Balloon experiments are famous.
He loves balloons. And he's explained the universe to television audiences using them.
That's why the black-hole guy knows to contact him. But I digress....
He's richer than most scientists are. And he's chosen an apartment in a cheap, old, more or less run down red brick building.
Minimum wage could support his living conditions.
Richard, while personable and humble, exists for nothing else but cosmology.
He's not interested in taking vacations. He loves his work too much. It fulfills him.
He's not interested in coasters, curtains, matching furniture or bath mats.
He eats when he's hungry, he sleeps when he's tired and for the rest of the time he's a dedicated cosmologist.
That's why he's famous.
He's more dedicated to his field than most other people have ever been.
Einstein had seven suits, one for each day of the week. That's because he didn't want to waste his brainpower thinking something as trivial as: "What should I wear today."
Richard is in that class of character.
Yet, while in the office, so satisfied with his career choice and so empowered with a sense of purpose - he seems far from obsessed. He is incredibly kind and easy to talk to. He likes making jokes and he's just fine at telling them.
His presence is fuzzy. It's nice to be around him.
He's never rude and he's hardly akward. (only around someone he finds attractive)
He simply is nothing if he's not a cosmologist.
To be continued in Writing Practice 12: Why Richard is attracted to the girl he told the wrong joke too (and, no, it's not her balloons)
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