Did you suck the juice out of the individual quarters of an orange when you were a kid? Then you know what the remaining skin of them looks like. Shriveled and empty with an odd pasty white color. Anyhow that is what his face looks like, the Walrus man. I call him walrus man due to his incredibly bushy moustache and generally stumpy figure. I watch him from the other side of the train station but can still see quite clearly the rot of his teeth they are not quite brown but not yellow either possibly the color of weak coffee that’s been left in the pot too long. His body shakes with obsessive hacking, gurgling, coughing sounds is it phlegm caused by a sauce and potato diet and too many cigarettes, or some form of mutant walrus communication? By the looks of him it could be either.

I have only seen this man a few times before lurking around the streets of Karlstad brooding. He always seems to be dressed in colors that match his general existence, off white t-shirts and murky brown pants all the makings of a man who seems to have given up. But he does not look defeated nor sad he just looks fed up like you have been talking to long or possibly ate the last muffin. His permanent lopsided snarl curves across his face like lightning but is lacking in shine to say the least. 

He takes a drag of his cigarette which he happens to be holding so desperately between his sausage like fingers you would think it would snap in two. When he does this he resembles a dementor sucking the soul from its victim, he moves it to and from his mouth in a rapid pace as if he had somewhere to be and was in a great hurry, but no he seems to be stuck in Karlstads center. Maybe he is running late for the life he forgot to live, or  maybe he is searching for the life he lost either way no amount of cigarettes will fill the emptiness in his little piggy eyes. Although I must say his moustache is quite remarkable despite the remains of last nights meatballs. The moustache is bushy and speckled with gray it droops sadly over his greasy upper lip, but like I said remarkable in fullness considering that the hair on his head seems to be gradually thinning in odd patches as if a child was given a go with some really wonky scissors. Suddenly he shifts and rises slowly admitting small groans like a duck with a cold and he shuffles away with the grace and speed of a sloth.

He lumbers across the streets sniffing the air and grunting at passing children who run away shrieking leaving the walrus man behind. He watches them with a scowl yet sad eyes trying to remember being a child before he transformed into a creature. He does not waste to much time thinking of this though and his thoughts move towards the microwave pizza he will eat for dinner. When he gets home the lights will go off and he will sink into the bath grunting as the water washes away the flakes of dry skin, his weekly bath gives him peace. His past life as a walrus comes rushing back to him as picks at his nose battling the hairs inside to receive his prize. After he flops himself so heavily on the sofa that his bouldering stomach jiggles for minutes after like slimy green jello. He stares out of the window of his apartment at the grey sky outside and that’s really the best description of walrus man, a grey sky not a hint of sun or even a cloud just everlasting grey. A hole in his well worn socks shortly distracts his bored gaze and he tosses them off into the “stuff corner” revealing a gnarly beast of a toenail. They could have made a horror movie about this particular toenail “Jagged Toenail Goes Rouge starring blisters, welts, and leading actress toe jam. He gives a shiver and tosses without a second glance a paper that’s littered his floor for years into the fireplace , his declination letter to the Royal Ballet academy burns slowly to ash.