He went by the name of Chet Peculiar. He wore a bowler hat and sported a long scraggly red beard. Chet showed the common signs of aging in that he was greying at the temple and his hair thinning atop. His walk peculiar with his right foot pointed North or East due to the direction of his pace. Perhaps this is how he gained the name "Peculiar". Chet tried to stay to himself, drinking Brady moderately. It seemed no matter how he tried, his attempts for solitude and moderation were all but discarded.
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Chet walked over the tracks and puked. He sniffed his fingers and thought about Morning Dove. Almost lost a hand there. Tie a burning tire to my ass. Nothing you can't do with sex drive. Ding a ling. The friggin streets all looked the same. Same stupid dead ends. Like a yeller on a yacht. Why'd you wanna get caught up in that kind a grunge? Hasn't your ass been sliced open with enough?
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