His hands held the memories of those around him. Anyone he had ever came across who ever even just took a glance left something. You could see it in his veins that ran along his hard working hands. The inside covered in old callus Brought on by his tough job he must have been a manufacturer of sorts. Some stories were built from love telling how they had met their partners others were quiet just as they held in their spirit more sad . Some were stories of hope and dreams. Then there were the picturesque ones who showed sunsets of all the places they had travels. Each vein each crevice each wrinkle held a different story all unique and now they continued to travel through this man’s hands.