The man shuffled down the street, attracting curious glances from passersby. He was limping slightly, his right leg scraping across the pavement as he dragged it behind him. His breath came in short wheezing gasps, and the skin was drawn tight across his gaunt features. The remains of a cigarette hung out of his mouth, nestling snugly between a gap in his yellowed teeth. The man’s eyes were red-rimmed as well, teary from sleep deprivation and the smoke from the cigarette. The suit he was wearing wasn’t in much better shape than its owner: the fabric was rumpled and torn, and smelt of dust and ashes. It used to be a fine piece of clothing, the envy of everyone else but those days appeared to be long past it, the material now as sad and forlorn as its wearer.
Curiously, the man had one possession which was not as worn as the rest of him. It hung out of his right breast pocket, a shiny golden pocketwatch with a matching thin chain. He clung to it with skeletal fingers, clutching the lustrous sphere in a death grip as if his life depended on it. His eyes, tired as they were, flickered around the street, wary of any movement. Down the street he travelled, a shambling, paranoid figure.
Hamish Tso 11L