They turned as one, all three heads swiveling toward the thin figure hobbling toward them. The man's silhouette cut through the dusty haze of the market, his limbs long and frail like brittle branches, his movements exaggerated as if he were acting out his own limp rather than suffering from it.
Each step looked painful, yet theatrical, the kind of limp someone might adopt if they wanted others to wonder about it. His clothes hung loosely from his frame, patched together in clashing colors, and his face was dominated by a grin so wide it pulled unnaturally at his cheeks, though the expression never warmed his eyes. Those eyes remained flat, vacant, the color of old metal cooled in dark water.
