*The weather left something to be desired, that was a certainty. Cold and wet, the rain seemed to hold up a mirror to the people he saw moving beneath the autumn drizzle. He watched them as they moved, heads down, paces hurried and most of them talking to themselves or, perhaps more to the point, the little bits of light they held in their hands. All of this he took in with a sort of wonder and for a moment he felt himself starting to drift away again. He cleared his throat and coughed some, the action causing him to once more be aware of his flesh and surroundings and the man took a moment to self consciously smooth the myriad wrinkles from the cast off clothing he'd manage to salvage. Fashionable? Probably not. A beat up pair of black cargo pants clashed garishly with the blue flower print Hawaiian shirt he wore open from about mid chest revealing the red "guitar hero" shirt that peeked out from underneath. At first he'd been dismayed by the large gash in the arm pit but, after time and reflection allowed him to ponder the garment, he pretended that the rip allowed the garment to breath more and this was a fine thing. A pair of laceless black sneakers kept his stained and worn white socks from getting wet (mostly) as did the tattered and ventilated surplus army jacket that he left open despite the rain as the weather wasn't all that chilly.
A passerby almost bumped into him and he offered a smile in apology, his cheeks flushing some in embarrassment and his deep set blue eyes glittered some in good humor. If the pedestrian noticed, she gave no sign and with a moment to wipe some of the excess water from his thinning brown hair, he allowed her to pass from his life and this narrative. Satisfied his attire was as kept as it could be given its' native state of near garbage, Andrew returned to reading the election signs*
(As a note, this character is NOT registering predators' taint)
Home 
