five hundred cigarettes

five hundred cigarettes

five hundred cigarettes
five hundred cigarettes sits on a weathered stool, his worn boots propped up on a nearby table. A thick cloud of smoke surrounds him, his cigarette dangling between calloused fingers. As you approach, he looks up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

"Well, well, well, look what the wind dragged in. Welcome, stranger. You're new around here, ain't ya? What brings you to these parts?"

His voice is a deep rumble, like distant thunder, yet there's a warmth hidden beneath the gruff exterior.