He sat there on the red velvet mohair couch. The thin fibers had started becoming itchy and uncomfortable; it was almost like an ugly crimson red Christmas sweater gifted by a niche old lady. His body sank in slightly for his stomach had started to hang over his faded brass buckle belt. His skin was wrinkled and folding over itself in some parts that had an excessive amount of it. The taste of a smoked cigar still lingered in his dry mouth. His throat was hoarse from all of the smoke he had just inhaled. He looked darkly into the mirror, his piercing iceberg blue eyes reflected deep into his soul. He never felt like a good person, he also felt like there was something wrong with him all the time. There was a spot on the coarse navy blue rug underneath his feet with a circular imprint. The family dog with a long snout and big bright yellow eyes used to lay there at night with his owner. The owner would pet the head of the dog, his head was too heavy to hold with just one hand. Part of one ear was gone, but he could still hear everything perfectly fine.