Description

     An aged man was the only inhabitant at the vacant bar. As I slid up beside him and ordered a drink, he acknowledged my presence with an absent glance. The stories his steel blue eyes held could challenge a storyteller. As he turned his head and went back to staring at nothing in particular, I caught a glimpse of the hard work etched into the wrinkles he wore around his eyes. Like moths drawn to a lamp post, the cigarette smoke curled around his head. As he took a drag of his dying cigarette he sputtered out a cough and wheezed to no one in particular, "These things will kill me."
    Slowly he moved his arm, cracking with arthritis, to his cheek, and relaxed his sandpaper skin against it.  I noticed his worn out boots caked with mud and dirt, when he slumped off the stool to leave. As he limped to the door I just stared at him depressing every second as this man teetered on like a toddler learning to walk.