Distant observations

His hair was messy, his face lined with grime. There was a comical
outline where the dirt contrasted against his pale skin, just where
his hairline began. Like the dirt had forgotten to spread further. His
uniform appeared close to a rag stitched from a washcloth at first
sight, but creases and folds at all the right places quickly made
themselves seen to an observant gaze as if to reassure that it had
recently been ironed.  He trudged down the alley with heavy footsteps,
a hand dropping down now and then to support his drooping frame on his bended knees. Sunlight filtering through his lashes directly into his
hazel eyes, he squinted as he looked towards either side of the
intersection back and forth as if trying to make up his mind about
which way to go. He couldn’t seem to decide right then. Or perhaps his
feet refused to carry him further, because the span of a couple of
minutes found him closely nestled against a wall, head buried into his
arms.
She gently noted the observation that he couldn’t have been more than ten.

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