Hawk

His name was Andrew Hawkins. Everybody called him Hawk; never Andrew or Andy.
Hawk was 52 when I met him. He was 52 each year after that. Every birthday, he had some clever reason why they thought he was 52 the year before, but were mistaken.

He was about 5'8" weighed 240 pounds. He wore his grizzled, gray hair brushed straight back, medium cropped. Never saw him wear a beard, but he was frequently in need of a shave.

He loved fat women. Petite, two-hundred-pounders need not apply. One day we were sitting around the office of the gas station where we worked. Our talk was interrupted when a woman came inside to get change for the pay phone on the corner of the lot. She was very large, cantaloupe sized gobs of fat hung on the inside of her knees just below the bottom seam of her bulging yellow shorts. Her hair was a disheveled fright of red straw. After she left the office, Hawk said, "You know, she wouldn't be so bad if she would just do something with her hair."