Excerpt from my short story, Like a Girl:
David Prinser wasn’t a standout kind of guy: blonde crew cut, black horn rimmed glasses, average height, studious and pale. He was a year behind me in college, and I’m sure I wouldn’t remember him at all if he hadn’t been found on a bench in the quad, nude, sprawled out open-legged, dead.
It was strange. I saw someone draping the body, and the leg looked pale even for December. Some girl, I guessed. Later in the Student Union I heard it was David, and realized the leg was long and hairy, not the kind of detail that hits you right off, looking at your first dead body.
Hell, I was 19 in 1979, and what struck me was the cop’s tight mouth, his bluish stubble, and his mirror shades. I wanted some just like that. A couple of campus security guards stood next to the bench, under a straggly plant that passed for a tree, and kept their backs to the body. Some students stopped to gawk, but I walked faster, heading for the library. It was early morning and cold. I just wanted to get away.