++ [ originally posted by gray ] ++
The hitchhiker glances over his shoulder, thinking he heard a car in the distance, and turns back in disappointment. His scraggly beard is overgrown, and scraps of his last meal remain like litter on a dusty landscape. His eyes are sore and swollen from too many restless nights sleeping in gutters and whatever shelter he can find. The pungent odor of sweat and rotting food hangs about him like a cloud.
Several cars pass; the hitchhiker sees their drivers take one glance at him, and as if they can smell him from the safety of their steel sanctuaries, keep driving down the dusty track.
He no longer even remembers how long he’s been wandering for. Days, weeks seem to have passed, but not one person has stopped, even to ask where he’s going. Staring down at his feet as he trudges down the road, he sees the rags that he has called his shoes for so many years. Scraps of stained, mangled cloth hang out, and the elastic bands holding them together are worn and tattered. He doesn’t even feel the searing heat of the ground against his calloused soles.