Staring Into Distance

He stares into the distance of the days, of those gone and of those yet to come -- he touches no one, is touched by no one. Yet noisy commerce around him flows, constant movement; but movement without a change of place, no progress forward, no backward retreat -- an illusion of movement, only. He sees youths -- with no sense of self -- and leathery crones, unhygienic vagrants, no place to go, assailed by noises -- a repetitious assault upon the ear and air. Still he sits, in frozen semi-trance, staring always inward, but also into distance, sentient and inert.