The Man Who Can't Be Moved

If one day, you wake up and find that you're missing me, and your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be, thinking maybe you'd come back here to the place that we'd meet...

You'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street.

No. I was not the man who could not be moved.

I was the girl who watched him.

I was strolling down the street when I saw you sitting idly by the corner. You were clutching a sleeping bag, barely moving.

"Is he homeless?" I thought to myself. He didn't really look like a hobo. In fact, he had a Louis Vuitton bag beside him, a Cashmere coat, and a Rolex watch. His sleeping bag was most probably Marmot. Maybe he stole those?

"Meh. It's not my business anyway," I said as I heaved a sigh and continued to run to my errands, "Maybe he ran away or something."

The next day, there you were again, still in the same position, in the exact spot.

Day after day, every time I happened to pass by the block, you would always be there, doing nothing. I thought homeless people were nomads-that they would transfer from one place to another, especially when the weather was awful and bipolar, and when food was scarce.

But you weren't doing those. You weren't begging for alms, breads, and pennies. You weren't crying out for mercy. There wasn't a single day when I would leave the house and then come home, without seeing you in that corner. You were just there, limp and stiff, numb from the bad weather, expressionless. I started to believe you were some kind of a really awesome statue or an inanimate human.

And during the next days, you were still there. I grabbed my wallet from my purse and pulled five paper bills. I marched towards you and extended my hand holding the money in front of you. But you failed to acknowledge it. You just looked at me with an indifferent expression. You did not accept the money. Heck, you didn't even bother to catch a glimpse of it.

I was about to walk out when a police officer approached you and said, "The locals have seen you here every day and night for about a month now. A couple of them were alarmed, confused how a beggar could possess such expensive things and wear extravagant and pricey clothes."

Stone-cold, emotionless, you retorted, "I'm not broke and definitely not a thief. I can show you my credit cards and IDs and you'd be the one begging for money."

The officer grew visibly red. His reaction was sculpted by the frowning of his brows and rage in his eyes. If this was an animated movie, smoke must had flared out from his ears and nostrils.Luckily, the policeman kept his cool and managed to calmly say, "Son, you can't stay here."

"There's someone I'm waiting for, even if it's a day, a month, a year."

I was flabbergasted by your reply. The policeman seemed to be dumbfounded as well. Nevertheless, he still urged you to leave.