The Hotel Waverly's half-lit circular sign lit the sidewalk chalk where the children were playing hours before.  The warming mid August rain shower suddenly crept up on asphalt.  Humidity rose off the street with in wispy cowlicks. The 506 pulled up.  I saw him exit the street car rear door and work his way down the platform rail.  He crossed on green.  Pricked the pay phone coin return and kept coming my way.  I could see the time line his face.  He creased a city map and snuck it in his knapsack.  

Cigarette lit.  Stay under the overhang to stay dry.  He continued up the side towards my bench.  Slightly stumbled over protruding sidewalk cement a shakes it off with quick glances of embarrassment.  Righting himself he's approached.  There's nothing inside him for him.  And on he continues with a shadow's voice and the rains continue.  But only for me.  

He carried the look of loss in his lines and let the frenzied rains rain on unabashed.   The un-avoidables in his track tepidly kept him on the rails.  The rain kept coming.  I saw the dirt and the dreariness sway down the sidewalk in his direction.  Looking for a coin for food or for indulgence urged them on to him.  He was gone.  

The alley crashed and screamed all around.  The rain kept coming.  His pack unknapped and shoes slipped off all that is left is the unfamiliar or being where he doesn't, and shouldn't, belong.  A feline emerges to visits his wasted alley friend from under a water logged waste-bin.  A black cat queen he holds close for comfort.  He lies down to feel the drip drop assault as his ink spreads thin.