NOTE: This entry is part of my "Personification Series" where I personify the days of the week into people.
It's a dark and shadowy corner of the bar. It's the kind of place that hides in the corner of well-lit streets. You might pass it on a night on the town and remark, "I never noticed this place before," or "Is this a new place?" but decide not to go in.
He sits in the corner on a worn leather bar stool that's held together with a piece of battered duct tape. He doesn't care. His old, worn clothes are the least of his worries and his unkept, oily hair is standing in all directions. It came from running his hands apprehensively through it whenever his glass was empty.
Anxiously, his leg jumps as he watches patrons drink from their frosty mugs and long necked bottles. He licks his lips, hoping to get a leftover taste from his last drink, knowing his pockets are empty.
Hungry eyes dart from sudden movements near the juke box to the flashy images that enter through the door. When that happens the sunlight slices through the dark place like a knife in cream pie. He turns away from it and searches. Busy eyes always searching. He is eager for his next fix.
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