The hook is there, and strong. Your MC's cynicism works well as a descriptive tool, and apart from giving us a sense of place it also gives us a good insight into his character. Short, but it's already grabbed my interest; I might read through the rest of the chapter if I have the time.
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He is a young man with a cold, piercing stare. He holds a dying cigarette in his left hand, and a worn, yellow-paged book in his right. His hair is combed straight back, his jacket is a thick, heavy black, and his socks are very mismatched. The elements of his nature are too old for his age, and he could be anything from twenty-five to fifty. He sits in a chair that should belong to his grandfather and comprises one of the three pieces of furniture in the room; the fan on the ceiling is one blade short of intact, and it wails as it moves. The candle standing on the pile of discarded books in the corner is constantly flickering in the artificial breeze; it provides the only light by which he can see as he struggles to read while looking quite elegant at the task. He is holding a cigarette that has almost died before it has been smoked and is trying to remember the name of his novel when there is a knock on the door.
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Reviews: 147