When David Williams walks into a little pizza joint near SMU’s campus, it’s nearly two in the afternoon. He looks college-kid smooth–worn jeans and a comfortable shirt, pimp sunglasses hiding his eyes–and he has a beautiful woman on his arm. They move easily together, and people notice as they stroll toward a back table. The Judi Online whole scene is painfully cool; the only thing missing is some slow motion and a good beat with deep bass.
They slide into their chairs and complement the scenery–a hip little place with low-slung lights that cast shadows just right on the postmodern tables and wine-red walls. He orders pasta with a heavy cream sauce, gives some to his girl Brittany. He lets her finish his sentences once or twice; other times he needles her.
It’s odd, because this is how a normal person acts–someone who wastes away on the couch, letting the television soften his brain, someone who inches along the highway each morning in a plastic-metal coffin just to get to some job he doesn’t like.
That’s usually not David Williams. He isn’t normal. He Judi Online never was really, and that’s truer today than it was when he was growing up. As a teen he was one of the area’s brightest, attending the Academy of Math and Science and making thousands of dollars on the side as one of the world’s best “Magic: The Gathering” players, a sword-and-sorcery card game for self-avowed nerds that Williams describes as “Pokemon for the advanced.” He’s constantly on the go now, flying from L.A. to Aruba to Paris to wherever. His passport stamps–Netherlands TaiwanSpain–bleed together into a blur on the pages. So he’ll take these quiet moments when he can get them–enjoying the serenity that comes after a storm so big you can’t be sure that it ever happened.
“Things have been kinda crazy, yeah,” Williams says, rubbing his face. His glasses are off now. His short hair and tight beard make him look like a scale model of Tim Duncan. He hears that from people all the time, he says, even though Judi Online he’d rather not hear it at all.
