He's finally told me his name

Adam certainly wasn't an imposing man. His glasses were the commonly seen gold framed and round, nothing flashy  or insinuated, but of course they gave him an air that men in glasses had, that scholarly air that made those in their presence feel like the one wearing the glasses had at least some of the answers. Adam was bookish, he was bright, he was educated, but not as much as others thought he was. He was good at math and always had been; his mother used shake out a bag of marbles and ask him How many marbles, darling? How many marbles does one need to make thirty if you've but nineteen? And Adam would scrunch his tiny five year old face up tight for an instant before brightening and practically shouting, Eleven! and would then bound like a puppy, rushing head first towards his mother, so proud he was of his quick answer. Math wasn't simply easy, it was like breathing to him, try as he might, his mind forced him to run up figures when it was in rest. 


Like so many men with glasses who were educated, Adam was also quite thin. His considerable height on top of this caused him to look a bit like a praying mantis unfolding, especially when he got up from a seated position. His hands were long, his feet were long, his arms swayed a bit when he walked. But he wasn't unattractive in the slightest, there was something  that seemed to flow through him, something peaceful but with an undercurrent of heat. He hadn't known many women but those who he did pass time with tended to become a bit obsessed; perhaps their mothers had whispered that common phrase "Still waters run deep" to them when they were girls. Meaning that the quiet, smart, peaceful ones who always seemed to be deep in thought were the ones with the most important things to say, or do. Adam had a lot on his mind most of the time, and he certainly was quite still, most of the time.  Not lately, though. Lately he'd been jumpy, fidgety, the very opposite of still.