2.18.2010 I saw a thin man sucking a limp cigarette with a work apron tied around his bent waste and a lump of greasy dark hair tumbling down into a pair of puffy inset eyes. He's what we call a 'working man', a 'starving artist', a 'sucker'. Like the lips he puckered to that vice between his fingers, he'll give in again. He'll continue getting gaunt and hollow out with a spoonful of that sappy heroine. There is something in the greyness of his eyes that made me stare, like dead men rolling in their graves. Now he's down the street in a taxicab and right to work with a stained apron on coughing up moths from the back of his throat.
posted by Tazarat @ 8:09 PM
