The satisfaction in his eyes couldn’t be matched as they poured over a golden cover of a novel easily mistaken for a family-heirloom encyclopaedia volume.
The old-time stench of rum drenched tobacco left ignored by a less than able nose left useless by a sudden turn of wintry times.
And turned fascinated by the stare back from the window as he takes another drag on the uncounted cigarette, ash lit up, highlighting the premature wrinkles and self induced tortured eyes.
A turn in the wind and a sound from afar struck his ear. The sound and the activity associated with it could be from miles away with the gross strength of the breeze.
A flicker of interest kindled in eyes and a smile let down by a flurry of hair covering the eyes, nearly catching fire and brushed away with a stumbled hand and a drunken dance on the front porch.
When nights like these less than troubled the young man, the years counted back and inspected like the healing scrape from a fall, all he could do was smile the same way.
Conversations, so many remembered and so many more forgotten, the clicks in the neck bones percussive reminders, recall the slight interesting notes and even more the lack of inclusion in the conversations themselves. Why get involved when observing was so much more soothing, a voyeur and possibly sadistic .