Shadow Man

A man, under the pouring shower, stands still as a shadow at the corner of the intersection. He has no umbrella in his hand, nor a hat on his head, the light across the street is red. The many cars though dash through the middle of downpour the man is lonely because nothing resembles him passes by. For every car is greater in excellence compare to others, they pass hurriedly in the heavy rain. For they don’t pay attention to the shadow that stands on the corner of the intersection, the man was lonely soul without his kind. For the light changes its color to green the man crosses the street, and though he falls on the middle of the way under the downpour, the lines of yet hasty cars run over the man’s shadow under their treads, not even throw a glance on the fallen man. The man is gone without an expression on his face, but dark shadow, the man is gone without leaving a thing behind, not even a shade of a color.