(Terre Haute, In)
About a week ago, I was in the living room of my house, sitting on the couch reading a book. It was late at night and I couldn't sleep, so I had been up for awhile.
Anyhow, about four o'clock I heard this rustling sound on my ceiling, and looking up I saw an old man wearing ragged clothes and sporting a bushy white beard, sitting in the corner of the room upside down; in his hands was an old wooden tobacco pipe.
I stared at him for a long while, not knowing what this was, when suddenly, while lighting his pipe, he spoke in a deep, gravely voice, "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to stare?"
I blinked, and when I looked again the old man was gone, but the smell of smoke still lingered.
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