Post by hondaraycer on Aug 8, 2005 13:36:04 GMT -5
Tall was the brujo padding down the molded wooden pier, t'ward an abandoned human-built park. White were his mitts, snow with ebon spots his pillars and chassis. Pointed and alert was the posture of this old dane, though creaky and aging his joints, which felt like grinding gears everytime he moved.
Down the pier with the smell of ocean mingling with the air, the molded and slowly rotting wood of the park rides; and old hot dog stands. Amos knew the way like the spots on his back, he never paused to notice the details. . .like even now how the sun was setting, casting a red-orange glow on everthing.
Instead he walked onward, unaware even of how his claws clicked slightly with each grinding step: He ended at an old parked rollercoaster cart, where his enormous stature allowed him easy access to the tall sides of the broken down ride going to wasted on rusted iron tracks. He hopped in, and reclined, only his rectangular dreambox with sharply pointed auds sticking above the top o' the cart.
Down the pier with the smell of ocean mingling with the air, the molded and slowly rotting wood of the park rides; and old hot dog stands. Amos knew the way like the spots on his back, he never paused to notice the details. . .like even now how the sun was setting, casting a red-orange glow on everthing.
Instead he walked onward, unaware even of how his claws clicked slightly with each grinding step: He ended at an old parked rollercoaster cart, where his enormous stature allowed him easy access to the tall sides of the broken down ride going to wasted on rusted iron tracks. He hopped in, and reclined, only his rectangular dreambox with sharply pointed auds sticking above the top o' the cart.
