Union

Like yellowed keys of an organ, sections of sidewalk lined a dirty city street. Buildings crowded around looking down at the street with rusty iron frowns. The tarnished metal faces of the city looked as if they had never been new, and even a hurricane could not wash off the grime left by so many tires and shoes. Run down shops accumulated junk behind broken barred windows, and the cracked glass crunched beneath beggars’ feet. Graffiti spattered across stained concrete walls, writings of years past. A few streetlights still rained down a sodium glow as early morning light crept through the air. The pungent sewer smell lingered at rat level, but the breeze blew in tumbleweed trash and left the street with the mustiness of old boots.
Next to a rubbish bin and a pile of garbage, a man’s weathered, stubbly face stood out, cheek pressed against the concrete and trash. The blankets and jackets and newspapers making his bed hardly separated from the overflowing garbage. His breath let out a telltale mist as he surfaced from his dreams, awakening with the street he knew. Serene blue eyes opened above a twice broken nose. A gloved hand reached for the knit hat covering his head as he began to smile wide, remembering the warm mornings inside. As he sat up, he gazed around at the early morning on Union and leaned back against the concrete wall. He rose and began walking toward the rising sun.