baroque

The pirate is advancing towards us. I can smell his yeasty stench from booze and bacteria. Days lacking water and soap, the usual recipe of the sea. You'd imagine opulent robes draping his arms, heavy rings with heavy gems, and ornate detailing of his feathered cap, all of which he stole from his enemies. We are all his enemies. He approaches, and we are unable to turn.

His eye patch hides half of his feelings, as he asks, "Hey, do you have, like uh, uh a dollar, cause I totally took this can of soup, and I can't pay for it." I just stare. He's pleading. On his person you can only see a worn-out jacket, no shirt, and stained pants, all unwashed. A pirate with nothing to his name. Abandoned.

The soup can already has been pried open and the soup dripping down the steely side. We're unable to help as he dashes away towards to the grocery store exit. Store employees surround us as if we know where the pirate is going, asking us what he wanted. He ran towards the doors. Freedom, open waters!