Apodion.net

Dave is a sad old Indian, nearly the last of his tribe. He sits and rolls a cigarette as we wait for the train.
“Train’s coming,” I say, trying to be helpful.
“I know,” he says, “I see it. But there is nothing I can do but sit here and roll my cigarette.”
“You could not roll it; save it for later.”
He looks at me with sad, old eyes, and then goes back to his cigarette. “You are a fool, and soon you will be dead.”

Melancholy, I think, is the perfect word to describe Dave the Indian.

—Stewart Finley, Wet-Footed Among the Americans