A Tableaux of Jeremy Sniders

He was sitting, sunken in the chair, such that his back did not bend as much as it gradually became upright--like the graph of an exponential function. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth hung slightly open. His breathing made an incredibly gentle scraping sound. His eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids drooped. Ash and Cheeto dust had been ground into the carpet. His mouth was very dry, and slightly open, so that with each breath the back of his throat tickled and scraped against the breath. His guitar sat beside him, on the floor, untuned, with one of the strings broken.