The second hand on the clock was a tremendous tick that pounded. Each passing moment was forgotten as he embraced the present with visions of the future. The walls, painted in a slight hue of green breathed and swayed with his own. Frank had become one with his surroundings. The chair he sat upon, an extension of his lanky frame.
Frank was of average size and build. Not one for frequenting a gym, his eating habits shaped his appearance better than anything else. A prudish diet of coffee, fish and nuts had left his skin an ashen color better suited for a lab rat. His gaunt face cut with a dull hatchet and ornately decorated with dark whiskers along his protruding jawbone. His hands, forged from leather, possessed the brute strength of a longshoreman and the steadiness of a neurosurgeon. His legs seemed to go on, unhindered for miles and miles. People had assumed his frame for distance running, but years of smoking had quieted that ambition. His yellowed teeth, never shown in smile or conversation, were all that told of his moonlighting as a chimney. And thus, was Frank.
