The rusted chain link fence strains under the stress of him sitting against it, threatening to break; to give in to his persistent, lingering pressure. He sits, watching. Watching as countless strangers pass each other, offering little but suspicious glances in the others direction. At times, they meet each other's gaze, forcing their lips into a half-smile and stammering incoherently as they pass. Sometimes, he can hear the distant cheer of supporters watching football games, like a ghostly echo of a long-lost childhood.
Scrawled upon the side of a cardboard box, which had long since been trampled by countless careless feet, was a series of words, faded to the point of illegibility. Three words, perhaps four. He no longer can remember. Even while they were still legible, the words were useless; never earning anything but a half-smile pressed sorrowfully upon lips as people trudge past him. Though still he keeps the sign, propped up carefully upon a rock at his feet.
Strangers come and go. Come and go...
Sometimes, people pass close enough for him to offer a sheepish greeting, though he is never humbled by a reply. Once, he had been one of those people; a trudging stranger monotonously completing daily tasks. Another cog straining within the machine of society. At the time he had despised this hopeless routine but now, he longed for it.
