He was short and very thin. His skin was dark bronze and worn from what looked like years of hard travel over dusty roads. His long, brown hair was ties back in a pony tail and his beard hid most of the features of his face. A thin, aquiline nose jutted prominently above a moustache and tied together massive eyebrows with light flecks of grey. Cold blue eyes set deep in the sockets sparkled with life belied tiredness as the figure bent to pick a penny from the street.
With a peace sign and small satchel hanging from his neck almost to the ground, he stuck one dirty fingernail under the penny and tilted it ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. Then with a shake of his head and a swift, smooth movement he let the penny fall flat to the pavement and straightened up. As he shuffled away barefoot he turned his gaze resolutely toward the writer and, with a gaze that showed both recognition and unfamiliarity, smiled.
8/29/1989 BCB
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