Not the sound of cloth against a seat, not the quick snap of a match. But there he is, watching, waiting. A hat, a cigarette, a hand in a pocket. Nothing more.
There could be a smile, but there couldn't be a smile. Only the newly worn wrinkles of a secret something, whispered on the night wind. Nothing more.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-04-23 08:18 pm (UTC)Not the sound of cloth against a seat, not the quick snap of a match. But there he is, watching, waiting. A hat, a cigarette, a hand in a pocket. Nothing more.
There could be a smile, but there couldn't be a smile. Only the newly worn wrinkles of a secret something, whispered on the night wind. Nothing more.