The Traveler

Post world. Everything loved, gone.

Male dominated, a rather portly fellow steps close and leaning in, the overweight man says to him, “I heard about them pickled eggs. Ever have one?” Offering his charity of giving the time of day, he declares, “This is my first visit, so, no I haven’t.” What comes after is light and airy like an old friend bringing up a forgotten memory.

“By chance, are you one of them mountain folk?”

Such a question has him asking his own.

“What if I am?”

The man’s eyes grow bright, and after clearing his throat by spitting a gob from his mouth, he shifts his weight before he says, “I be wanting to trade for a knife if you got one handy.” Shining through that thin brightness is sadness that has him refusing to have such a connection to this man’s death. That on his mind, he plays along anyways by giving a cold smile before he asks, “What do you have in trade.”

Acknowledging, the man reaches inside his outerwear and pulling forth a time piece that is held upon his open palm for inspection. From there, the man coos, “Allow me.” Winding the screw, the timepiece is held close to his ear to where he is able to hear a ticking and having no use for such a relic from the past, in refusing the offer, he says to man, “No deal.” A sour look materializes on the trader’s face and as the portly fellow shucks the piece into his pocket, the man makes his way through the crowd in his want of looking for another mark.

Certainly not the last to come his way, for now, those around him leave him be and thankful for that, doing what he can in getting close to the pen housing the woman and Clarence, what comes is a wave of applause.