I walk out of my house one early, crisp fall morning, on a stroll to town. Walking down a long dirt road I come across a rugged man standing in the middle of my path. I had never seen anyone like this before. His beige suede hat tilted across his right eyebrow. His eyes starred me down like an eagle hunting its prey. The jean like jacket, torn cloth shirt, and big buckled belt he threw on his thin, meager body, brought me back to the early 1900 gypsy men. Across his chest lay two guns that he grasps in his skeletal like hands. One was pointing to the grey gloomy sky, and the other, pointing left. His stance was wide, and his feet planted like they were stuck in cement. He was not moving anywhere. I turned around and began to walk towards my home again, looking back every few minutes. His silhouette broadened with the sunlight, but still no movement. I think to myself, who is this man?
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