American God, Misfortune

I am thankful that I am especially amused by the little things in life. What a tragic existence would it be if I did not have humor in my life. :]

Across the river stands a man. In the man's hand, there is a whistle. His chin is covered in a scraggly beard. His eyes are blurred by old glass lenses, and a single silver chain connect his pocketed pocket-watch to his vest. He is wearing a thick, Russian-esque winter coat, with great big patches of fur on the sleeves and around the neck; but he leaves it unbuttoned and brazes the heavy breeze.

He has one eye open and the other closed, tightly shut. His open eye is a soft gray with flecks of gold in it, and there is a heavy hunger in his eye, lurking at the edges of the iris. His mouth is hidden beneath a mustache, but his powder pink lips stick out like a fish's.

I have never seen him open his other eye, and so he appears to be in a perpetual state of winking at me. There are worse things, I think.

~Hammeh