A stone wall that's turning dull from each witness; who leans against it waiting upon their desperation for our spare change. Sorrowful eyes that are so abbernat in this cruel world. He no longer notices people anymore only figures who live in a luxury world compared to him. He lives with just the worn down clothes with that reek of last weeks dumpster dive.
He rubs his grimy hands through his greasy hair. Pretending it feels like the women’s freshly washed hair whom sitting across from him. Eating a meal that's not only tasteful but also warm and made with no worries of mold.
His stomach begins to cry, and the smell tries to water his month but he's too dehydrated, too weak to even move away. His bones so brentel he can barely lift his little jar filled only with two dollars worth of change. He slowly closes his pale, thin, eyelids, using his narrow, vainly hands to rub his raspy skin with those open scrapes explaining his years of loneliness.
His only companion is his self harm from the nights filled with blistered feet. Slouching against this dry wall, causing another dull shade. Mumbling among the birds with his drained whistled voice begging for somewhere to sleep.