fallen angel
There is a man sitting in the shelter of the bus stop.
He looks familiar somehow. He is a black man with a face worn by time. He wears a black coat, a wonderful red hat, and pointed red shoes. He is smoking a cigarette as he rests on the bench, and he looks to me with a strong and confident gaze.
"Gimme five," he says.
So I got on the bus to head to work, and no sooner did I board that transport than did I behold the finest man alive.