He was a legless, screaming middle-aged wino.
He descended upon North Beach like a chapter from the Old Testament. He was the reason birds migrate in the autumn. They have to. He was the cold turning of the earth; the bad wind that blows off sugar.
He would stop children on the street and say to them, 'I ain't got no legs. The trout chopped my legs off in Fort Lauderdale. You kids got legs. The trout didn't chop your legs off. Wheel me into that store over there.'- Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America
ink and digital for Sandy's Illustration 4 class/Portfolio, whatever