The Pavement
He walked the pavement like it belonged to him. The sun beat down hard, but he didn’t flinch. He wore the same denim and cotton sweats, the kind that had seen better days. They clung to him, familiar and worn.
He had earbuds in, music blasting, drowning out the world. It was a private escape, a place he could go or never return from. His expression was stoic, a grimace hidden behind dark shades that shielded his eyes. No one could see him, and he preferred it that way.
People passed by, but he didn’t acknowledge them. They were just shadows in his periphery. He moved with purpose, each step deliberate, as if he were the only one who mattered.
His face bore no resemblance to anyone who might know him. It was a mask of solitude, a canvas of choices made and paths taken. He walked on, a figure of quiet confidence, a man lost in his own thoughts.
In the distance, the town buzzed with life, but he remained an island. He carried his dreams in silence, a king of the pavement, navigating a world that felt both familiar and distant. He walked on, and the world continued to spin around him.
