An intrusion.

You see a man sitting in a corner of a small, shady looking bar. Whisky in one hand, book in another and a cup of tea on the table. His clothes look as though they been through some tough times, scrunched up and dull, they suit the setting. If you would have walked straight through, you would have not made that slight distinction between wall and man. The book strikes you as somewhat of a mismatch. As destroyed as his clothes, the book he was holding looked antique. It was dark , his eyes squinted, desperately trying to catch those words. The cup of tea seemed incongruous,but at the same time quite comfortable, sitting there on the table. You wonder who he is.