The man was not so concerned with his appearance as that of his rather strange-looking hat. You see, his hat had a special function. It was a secret function, so secret that even I, the narrator of this novel, have not been offered the privilege of knowing anything about it. But it would seem that this secret function was very important.
As I have said, the hat looked very strange. It had what appeared to be a golden satellite dish sticking out of one side, and a purple feather on the other. He changed this feather every day, but this purple one happened to be his Thursday feather, and today was indeed Thursday. Not that that mattered, as he had no job or anything that depended in any form upon the days of the week.
In fact, he only owned the raggy clothes on his back and this very hat, which in structure seemed similar to some sort of pirate hat and was black like one. However, it did not have a design on it, much less a skull and crossbones. So it would appear that its very secret and special function was not to serve as any sort of sign that he happened to be anything such as a pirate.
He did love the sea, however, but it was not for sailing or treasure or anything on a ship. He did not want to be involved in any naval battles or anything fancy like that. It was just that he liked going to the beach. In fact, he liked the beach much less for the water than for the sand. Sand was his favorite substance, and he enjoyed it much more than anything. He sometimes wished that he had a house with sand for the floor, although he then admitted to himself that that would be far too dirty a dwelling.
Still, he wished he had any house at all. As I have already said, he definitely did not have one because he did not have anything at all besides his strange-looking hat with the very special and secret function that neither you or I are likely to find out about any time soon.
If it had been that useful, however, he would have had some way of making money, I would think. And he really didn’t: he had no education and no family to speak of. Well, he did have a high school education, but this was today’s world, in which that hardly counts for anything when looking for a job. He had tried donating blood plasma for a small stream of income, but that was barely enough to feed himself with, and he wasn’t able to do that anymore now because his impoverished state of being was having awful effects on his health.
He was only 24, but he had the face of one who was 42 instead, due merely to his aforementioned health problems. His short brown hair was disheveled, at least as much as could be seen under the strange-looking hat with the special function. Which, by the way, he never ever took off, no matter what. Even when he slept he left his hat on.
Anyway, back to the point of the preceding paragraph, his wide brown eyes looked around the underside of the bridge he happened to be standing under. I don’t know why he was standing under a bridge, but we will get back to that later, once I’ve finished describing his appearance.
He had a long nose and thick, pouty lips that hadn’t smiled in weeks. His half-starved body was encased in a plain brown t-shirt, the only one he hadn’t been forced to sell for his survival. His jeans were ragged and covered in patches made from half of an old, ripped-up sweatshirt he’d been using. The other half was currently being used as a scarf, and was a faded black. There had been a little bit left over as well, so he had lined the inside of his worn sandals with it.
No comments:
Post a Comment