I was sitting in a dingy old bar on the wrong side of the tracks.
The kind of place where the degenerates seemed to fall between the cracks.

A place where ones back was safer against a wall.
Some colorful characters amongst the crowd keeping me enthralled.

The dusty old jukebox in the corner played some depressing country song.
A cloud of smoke hovered the room and the smell of stale booze was strong.

No such thing as happy hour when you drink in a place like this.
Not only did it smell of stale booze but it also reeked of piss.

The whiskey burned my throat as I downed a couple of shots.
Suddenly, I was overcome by a smell as if something had started to rot.

I noticed a reflection of someone behind me in the mirror behind the bar.
Spinning around on my stool the first thing I noticed were his facial scars.

The burning embers of a lit cigarette cast a pale light on the man's features.
With every puff he took the lines on his face became a little clearer.

Ashes fell from the tip as they grew to long and heavy to stay attached.
Drawing my eye to the knife on his belt that looked all beat up and scratched.
My attention and curiosity he surely did attract.

Ashes cascaded gently to the ground as I stared in awe at this mysterious man.
The tips of his fingers turning yellow from the cigarette in his hand.

He wore a wide brimmed hat all tattered, torn and black.
His long dark stringy hair hung down the middle of his back.

He pulled down his hat as if to hide his hollow sunken eyes.
He appeared to only be a shell of a man, a creature of his own demise.

The smell of burnt flesh flared my nostrils as his cigarette burned to a nub.
The smoke from his fingers burned my eyes so I gave them both a rub.

His breathe smelled of cheap whiskey and he wore a long beat up leather coat.
Was this man before me a dealer of death, determined and fully devote.

He didn't appear to be a mortal man and I wondered if I was looking at a ghost.
My heart thumped loudly in my ears as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

His dirty, weathered skin looked like worn out leather hide.
The hat he wore atop his head adorned with a single black feather on the side.

Who the hell was this man and why was he standing there staring at me?
Was this man who stood before me cursed or was he holier then thee?

"Grab yourself a drink my friend, now come pull up a stool."
Every person in the bar heard the tension in my voice as I tried to play it cool.

"Two whiskeys for me and my partner here, just to be safe better make them doubles."
"Have a drink on me."
"I just want it to be known I don't want any trouble."

His threatening figure drew even closer as he sat on the stool beside me.
He had yet to utter a single word as he sat down on his seat so silently.

The stench of death almost overwhelming as it oozed from all his pores.
By the Haggered...