"He lit his cigarette, the faint crackling sound of burning tobacco accompanied a hallowed red glow as it ate the cigarette away. He paused every once in a while to let the smoke seep from his mouth, as it dispersed into the air, clouding the air around him, an aura of smoke.

He didn't look ordinary, he had the appearance of a character sketch gone drastically junkie, the term being more of an honorary title that an actual derogatory. He commanded a presence, one he wasn't too modest about. His locks were forever suspended in a loop of locomotion, swaying back and forth. They grew as did creepers, masking his face in a growth, one easily confused with the facade of a lack of hygiene, but they were more, hygiene is but a trivial matter when the fabric of time is woven into your keratin roots. He spoke as did an intellectual, his words warped to the point where common sense transcends the boundaries of nirvana. Elegance was his virtue, each action vestigial to it's successor. His voice would chew away at the lard of ignorance that filled our minuscule minds, his words probing into the inner sanctum of our being. He made a difference, the instigator of change, a cog that clocked our world."
-Angad Nanda