It began to rain. Everyone in town retreated to their homes. I sat in a old coffee house drinking a cup of hot cocoa. The town was lifeless. I gazed out the window. There was an old man who sat hunched underneath the overhang of the town's pub across the street from me. He carried softly in his creased hand a cigarette. His eyes exposed a shade of yellow stain like a dandelion would after being rubbed on your hand. The stiff white mustache that hung just below the man's nose, stood like an old brittle broom. A dull green hat draped over the man's head. His wrinkles portrayed the look of a new born pug. The scruff that clung to his chin are prickles of a cactus flower. The gazed look he carried seemed mysterious. His eyes seemed glazed, as if he wasn't there at all. His cheeks plumped outwards like the shape of a pear. The crease below the man's lower lip was a defined black ink line. He hunched over in the shape of a "C," he looked cold."Can I get you anything else?" The waitress asked.
I turned my head to look at her, "No thank you, it was delicious." When i brought my eyes back to the man, he was gone.
