Old Toby was a bit of a mystery. No one knew much of anything for certain about his background and no one really wanted to know either. He had always been known as Old Toby although his age could have been anywhere between 35-60. His skin might have been a dusty grey-brown, aged from years of exposure, but that might simply have been the result of going at least 20 years without bathing. Kennia wondered sometimes what would happen if he were suddenly thrust under a spigot. He would probably dissolve she figured. Certainly his clothing would since the dirt was about all that held the garments together.
His slouch hat was some indeterminate shade of green-grey-brown with lank, greasy strands of black and grey streaked hair hanging out from under it. The collar to his oversized buckskin jacket turned up to meet his hat while his boots came up to the jacket’s bottom fringe. Old Toby radiated a certain odour of stale ganja smoke. This was hardly surprising since ganja was his preferred payment for services rendered. These services were numerous and varied and many may have been of questionable legality although Old Toby insisted that he had never done time in prison.
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