By Log (original post)
Herman is remarkably old, just a shriveled shell of a man who was never tall to begin with. His face is long and drawn out with a forlorn visage betraying two rheumy eyes. A few thin desperate white hairs float around his head. He wears a colorless sweater that is three sizes too large and grayish sweatpants. He is always in his slippers as he doesn’t go outside anymore. He doesn’t see very well, and his hearing is suspect.
His shuffling approach precedes his soft, throaty “Pardon me” as he taps you on the shoulder. “You lost this…” is usually all he’ll say as he takes your hand and places something in it. You may look to find your missing car keys, or your misplaced favorite pen…or a picture of your high school sweetheart that you lost twenty years ago. If asked where he got any of these items, he answers glumly “I found it.”
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