Miles

There he sat in the dim lit room with his three best friends some dice, beer and his pipe. His is skin in a corrugation with his withering sight. All heard are the aimless words, that seem through the convexity that has become of his mouth, a never ending story, or just a simple concoction of words. His weary bones and thickset appearance made it seem almost impossible to move. Battered and beaten, all he felt was a gargantuan weight on his shoulders that made it most difficult to move. He speaks with the only responses heard by himself and anybody else who may be listening to him.