hmjr34
Its not random, its not unknown. Never a mystery. Not a group, not a bundle. Not a thousand, not even two. No one else belongs, because this one is Specific.
He was a gray old man. His hair was white, and his eyes a piercing bright blue. Those eyes always seemed to smile at you, despite the wrinkles and the deep worry lines surrounding them. He always had a story, the barber. A story of the war, of his children, or my very favorite, of how he met his wife. There's nothing more beautiful than that story.