Frigid dustlets of snow whipped around his ankles while he waited outside for the smoke to clear his lungs. He hadn't bothered to put socks on and errant particles of the snow managed to seep into the tops of his boots. His face had traces of expressions, but none lasted long enough to give him the appearance of any particular mood. The sound of the television was loud in the background and it helped him remain outside a while longer, even after his cigarette had hissed and died.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment