just the rushing wind on a rolling mind

He turns around and you can now see his face, no longer obscured by the dark shadow of his hood in the poorly-lit part of the building. You recognize him. He’s the man who has come in every three or four weeks for the past year. Always during the slow times. Usually smelling a bit like the woods. Often with a tired look in his eyes, not the kind that comes from over-exhaustion and boredom, but the kind that comes with doing invigorating work for extended periods. The tiredness that calls for some warm food and rest before it can cede to a passion of sorts. or, reader is a waitress at a restaurant in the mountains. frankie is a backpacker who often stops by after his trips.