He spoke to me, I nodded my head. He ordered a glass of beer for me. He drank a concoction which he called whiskey. He was terribly dirty. Then he sat down. I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a repulsive creature as he was. A great head covered with long shaggy hair, that curled in a mass. His eyes were blue—a deep blue. In them one could see the depths of depravity he had sunk to. His mouth was weak and sloppy, but his chin, covered with a few days’ beard, was strong. He looked brutal. And, Peter, he was brutal.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Nowhere,” I replied. I drank a little of the beer. He swallowed the drink he had before him at a gulp. He appeared to throw it down his throat. I noticed that none of the muscles either contracted or expanded with the effort.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“No one,” I replied.
“Where do you live?” he persisted.
I turned from him and arose from the table and left him staring after me. I knew he would follow. He did. We went out of the place together.
“My wife is dead,” he said.
“Well?” I answered.
“I want another.”