He stumbled from the shadows, blinking, rubbing his eyes. They were red-rimmed with black hammocks slung beneath them like scars of lost time.
Shambling into the light, the hunched figure muttered and twitched as he repeatedly jamming his fingers in his ears. This involuntary rummaging dislodged flakes of dried blood that fell like rusty snowflakes only to catch in his stubble.
The freshly-showered and laundered commuter crowd parted easily around him as if subconsciously aware of the foreign body in its midst, slipping him through with nothing but a few sideways glances to hinder him.
Those close enough to hear the murmuring from his cracked lips could make out the simple mantra, “Black Breath, fucking hell”, repeated again and again.