doobiusDistance

The man with the sad eyes and soul looks silently into his past, while groups of youthful folks walk slowly by. They don't notice him. His cup of change rattles, almost empty, calling to the hordes of empty bodies. It screams "Help!", while his sign reads, "God Bless". His stomach rumbles, empty. He trips on his words when he speaks, nervous that these people will think less of him if he shows his broken smile, full of decay and disease. He scratches his nest of a beard that sits on his chin. 'Just look at me. Acknowledge my existence.' He adjusts his back, leaning against an old newspaper stand. The shuffling of feet is a never ending song