Complete the portrait with grey-black stubble littered over acne scars like the ice on the Ural River just after spring breakup. It smelled like he was hoarding a sack of goose shit under a stinking sweatshirt that looked like it had been washed in an ashtray. The stink of body odour deadly, like with most sub-humans stuck on him like lesions on a leper. There was something hard and unformed about him, like a man who had grown up forced to eat gravel and had a soul full of ashes to match.
Naz scanned the walking Douglas Fir tree for crude prison tattoos and her suspicions were confirmed. If this what? "Man" didn't describe him -- wasn't vor, then he was only a short droshky ride away.
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