Untitled

An observation. Nothing else.

He sat stooped with his eyes blotted into nonexistence by black rimmed spectacles.  His sunken pallid face supported a scraggle of white beard that poked about his jaw like worms after heavy rain.  His nose protracted at a severe angle.  His hands, amazingly without arthitis, diligently weaved  hemp and faded rainbow twine.  They flashed white against a constrasting black.  The jet-black overcoat hid, no doubt, a slender form.  'Old man,' I thought as I took in the wooly black cap covering his thorned wispy hair visible only in brilo pad tufts about his ears.  'Old man, what haven have you fournd?'  The shop teemed with earth-tone and plaid patrons. Chatter, indistinct, churned the atmospere of the coffee steam.

' Old man? Can you tell me my fortune?'