Short Story 1
The street took in an old man. A man with a beard like vines that crept down his face with no particular intention of it's whereabouts. This man had a tired face, full of wrinkles like cracks in buildings, they didn't belong but looked normal. Dark bushy eyebrows and short hair, he looked like a marine that was growing a beard and far to old for the service. Eyes gray like clouds covering a blue sky. The man walked in a fast pace as if he was a white rabbit with somewhere to be, full of anxiety and in a hurry. Brown work books that had seen one too many long days let his torn socks unleash toes, it looked like ripped body bags revealing awful contents. For lack of a better term, let's call this man Woodrow. Woodrow was something
The street took in an old man. A man with a beard like vines that crept down his face with no particular intention of it's whereabouts. This man had a tired face, full of wrinkles like cracks in buildings, they didn't belong but looked normal. Dark bushy eyebrows and short hair, he looked like a marine that was growing a beard and far to old for the service. Eyes gray like clouds covering a blue sky. The man walked in a fast pace as if he was a white rabbit with somewhere to be, full of anxiety and in a hurry. Brown work books that had seen one too many long days let his torn socks unleash toes, it looked like ripped body bags revealing awful contents. For lack of a better term, let's call this man Woodrow. Woodrow was something