City of Man

His eyes watered from the biting wind while he threw his hands deep into his coat pockets. The wool material held his aged hands warm and safe. A stray leaf grazed his shoulder, then passed a woman late for work, hair askew and breath coming in a rapid pace, and then- silence.

These days were common for him, a glance at a busy city struck in the throes of typical seasonal weather. He bent his head, seeking some kind of substance, a source, to shield him from the daily disturbances. He saw little kids huddling together, impatient as they waited for the bus, the big easy cheese. He felt a shiver scream through his body and continued to shove his hands into his pockets, father still, testing the fabric at it's best.

No matter how hard he tried there seemed to be no remedy for the aching bite. He felt his skin dry as the wind whipped around him, pulling him into a weathery trap. So typical, very so expected, but slippery and smooth nonetheless. It was as typical as typical could get, an epitome at most, maybe. But for him, biting wind was just a small barrier of life.