He has dusty brown hair in need of a wash and comb, a beard in need of trimming. His shoulders slump as he shuffles along the sidewalk in plaster splattered work boots, a newspaper tucked under a grimy arm. He lets out a yawn and scratches his back; I notice a lengthy tear along the neckline of his shirt.
I follow him down the street, past the convenience store that sells overpriced bread, stale hotdogs and greasy beef jerky; the shoe store that advertises the best brands for less; an ornamental fountain that water no longer flows from, but is littered with crumpled cigarette butts, dead leaves, and an empty pop can.
He enters a deli; I hesitate and lean against the window memorizing his features, breathing in the strong aroma of spiced meats and sugary pastries. He purchases two buttery sausage rolls, places one in his lunch box, the other he gobbles in three large bites; I salivate. I turn sideways as he opens the door and heads down the street; but, I have to go in another direction. I find a bus stop to sit at and quickly draw what I remember, his tired eyes, unkempt hair, and scraggly beard.
I’m satisfied with his eyes, even his nose, but his mouth, now that is something I haven’t captured; and his eyebrows, they’re not quite right either, but overall I’m pleased with the results.
YOU ARE READING
Speaking in Mirrors
Short StoryIllustrated short stories. Seeking connections, a glimpse or a sigh; stale hotdogs and greasy beef jerky; reincarnation and landfills; King for the day; whiskey, lacquered hair and keeping happiness – tall tales of a small city.
