Sidewalk

Throw up your arms and look to the skies. The composition of golden stars sprawled in the death of the chill. 

A man paces up and down the sidewalk. 

It gets colder and colder, the temperature an aggrevating hit of painful sharp blasts. The flowers wither in helplessness; the air migrates fickle-mindedly. The rich retreat back to their shelter, their children tucked in bed and fast asleep. 

The man took his final fall. Motionless and ready to submit. 

It never ends. Never.