User Review( votes)
written by: Phyllis Souza
— Like an overgrown weed patch, his chin hid beneath a straggly beard. A man was spitting black seeds while eating a slice of watermelon near the entrance of Long John Silvers.
Underneath a dirty, frayed jacket, he had broad shoulders, and his long hair a tangled brown mop.
"Afternoon," he mumbled.
"Hi, that looks good." I answered on my way into the restaurant.
Juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He brushed it off with his sleeve. "You wouldn't think so if you knew where it came from."
The man stood next to a trash can.