He hadn’t said a word all evening, the small, frail man in threadbare jeans and a faded fishing shirt two sizes too large. Slumped-shouldered and sunken-eyed, he’d arrived alone and had settled into the sparest chair in the lodge’s common room, the one near the window, and extended a thousand-mile stare out onto the plain, across the river, over the foothills that rose to our west. To where the sun would soon set.
Casper
by Mike Sepelak - Thursday, Dec 19th, 2019