Coach Marshall Shapiro is the head coach at GHU.
It was still hot and humid during the day, but once the sun set and it all burnt off, it cooled down. So when Marshall got up in the early morning to jog, he was cold in his sleeveless tee and shorts.
He liked the cold. It woke him up and made his spine sparkle. Steam shimmered off the spot where his shoulders met his neck. Not that Marshall had much of a neck, as his shoulder-meat was thick enough to run together with his just-shaved jaw.
From Marshall the Coach
He gave a courteous nod to some ladies. Marshall didn’t think about them, but he had to acknowlegde them lest his grizzled chin and his unsleeved arms send them into frightened swoons. Marshall looked mean. That wasn’t his intent, but it was true, and he leaned into it.
With men. He leaned into it with men, of course. Not women. He gave a polite nod to the ladies.
When he passed them, he focused on running and the sweat dripping down his back. His craggy face stayed stoic, until he stopped to glare down a sleeping hobo. He’d have to call campus security to get rid of him.
From Marshall the Coach
Coach Marshall had a jowly, craggy face like a pale pumpkin a month after Halloween, and he had a buzz-cut like a Marine.