6 May 2012
He was the type of person that gave of a 'I think I'll cross the street to avoid' sort of feeling. He had a pale, mottled complexion with bruises on his cheeks and forehead; I would often imagine wild and fantastic ways in which he may have developed them. Maybe an injury from a heroic deed, like saving a child from a speeding out of control bus or from a beating obtained in a anti-capitalist demonstration. In reality it was more likely a drunken fall down a concrete step or two.
His eyes were a deep brown almost black and he had a walk, or should a say drag, which indicated an old unhealed injury somewhere within his left foot.
On this occasion he seemed to be clutching something tight, folded under his arm. A clean, shiny new leather satchel. His bony fingers twisted around the handle in a way that gave the impression he treasured what was inside and was not intent on letting it go......
A Leather Satchel (thoughts, ideas And comments welcome) • Opuss № I