They were both old and young and the look drudgery was stamped indelibly on their faces. She was reminded of a drawing in a book she had taken out of a library back east of a circle of witches around a heated kettle conjuring up some evil spell to afflict an enemy.A couple of the younger females were staring at Graham and giggling behind their hands. While most of the laundry women were either old or Oriental, these two girls were obviously down on their luck young females who were more inclined to seek honest employment rather than sell their bodies down on the second floor of the rowdy saloon.Graham didn't overlook their interest and the next time Sheila turned around, he was chatting them both up like they were old friends. The real pretty one with the pigtails was called Clementine and the tiny one was called Eve. It was Clementine that really held Graham's interest and Sheila could easily understand why with her perky boobs and the nicely shaped backside that never stopped. He would pass them by, smiling ominously, for if they knew what he really wanted, they would understand his tendency to hang about. Chills ran down their spines at the sight of his intense gaze, but they never gathered the courage to tell him to leave. No one could ever really see his eyes when he used to come around in the past. His long black hair was always hanging over them on both sides of his face, sort of shutting people off from getting too close. To the observer, it would seem he owned only long-sleeved shirts, and the pants he wore only came in one size: baggy. Craig Miller's boots remained a constant echo throughout the halls, throughout the aisles, and up against the tall ceilings when he entered.He was searching for that door, that perfect pool of energy, that perfect soul to ravish. But now. People rarely paid any attention to him and he became so accustomed to it that when someone got a whiff of his presence, he felt as if they were intruding upon him. And he would.
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