The curtains are drawn. The glowing screen dimly lights the face of the hunched man. His burned out, pinpoint pupils furiously scan the shining page. The black beads vibrate in their cells. A grim, slack look sits on his face. His hands are like gnarled spiders jabbing at their webs--agitated by prey ensnared. His chest is sunken and his spine is curved and his shoulders hunched. His clothes sag on his frame from the pull of the musky layer of sweat-dried damp socks and underwear covering his shadowy floor. His eyebrows clench like muscular furry worms ready to attack. His overbite reveals large jagged crusty stained teeth that shatter Dorritos and burritos and Tostinos and Fritos, Cheetos, and pizza regularly. His hair lies lank and around his neck--slowly coagulating into a shimmering creeping ooze that will slide down his back and run out through his pants leg and settle around his feet that he has not seen in many months. A quiet, motivated, desperate man.
No comments:
Post a Comment