The King of 15th Street

A man on my block sits in the corner window which is covered with rusted bars. He hangs an elbow and a flaccid arm between the grates and lets his cigarette linger. A tall enough passerby might brush shoulders with his ash but pass it off as an errant branch. Those tangled limbs look like they have been trapped here forever.

I wonder how long it takes to live here before you become paralyzed with indifference. I wonder if I will escape before it's too late.