4.20.2013

234 of 365

His face shaded by his poor-boy cap was caked with dirt, his fingernails blackened, his suspenders frayed, his trousers wrinkled and cuffs rolled. Aside from his sneakers, at one time an unspoiled white with fluorescent orange Nike swooshes above the laces, now with soles held on by duct tape, he was a transport. He sought this way of life, one that was fitting despite the era. He lived below radar, unkempt and free.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Compliment, critique, conceive, create...you know the drill. Thanks for stopping by and saying hello.