Spaceman of Detroit
He clanked down the sidewalk beside East Grand Blvd. His armor was handcrafted from discarded urban debris. As he spotted me he left the sidewalk and began to walk down the middle of the street muttering to himself in a charming schizophrenic way. His hands had blades jutting out between the knuckles. Some looked fake, like tin foil wrapped around plastic, but one was a hefty metal shank.