Sits in the winter sun Stares at the floor drawing wet breath from a can of Bank's best. Idling the time, wondering how what's passing by his quiet mind finds the time. Finds a fragile smile at his blue lips, sighs it off, at once lost to the frosted air. Counts falling leaves riding each breeze, breathes a sigh of grief through his absent and weak teeth. Not so sad nor not so happy either, neither meek nor strong, speaks to no soul, only abides the swelling cold. Watches dogs frolic, until the tumble of the day falls to dark, sleeping through until the next day starts anew.