Stained from the dinner last night, walking down the street, hair tossed back dripping with grease from long showers not taken. Looks like Bob had a tangle with barbed wire from the looks of his clothes, asking me for some change. Toss him a nickel to add to his collection of non-essential essentials. Look at him closely, with his eye whites yellowed like the newspapers saved from the wars before, stored in the linen closet. Travel the roads on his face, that create their own routes through caverns from his youth. Meaty boned fingers, with the nails chewed like rats to a corpse, grasp a hold of a paper with a photograph. He gazes upon it with a semi-smirk, like one from a child who just got away with a lie to their parents regarding the sugar spilled on the kitchen floor leading into their bedroom, and the dog outside begging to be let in for the trouble it did not cause.

Taking the wool of my person to hand to Bob, as he starts to walk down the desecated way. He turns to look and say something, but no longer speaks as his instrument was taken away years ago, for speaking of which he saw with his eyes. A nod and turn away, as he pulls the fleece over his head and sighs a relief from the cravass within his chest. Bringing his hand to his eyes, leaving behind a trail of the weeks work, just for a hot meal. Heavy boots drag forward on the concrete, sandpapering the ground smooth, on his way to the next town over.

09/20/2001

Posted on 09/20/2001
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