He sat there across the road, bent over, elbows resting on his knees, a cigarette hung limply in his long tapered fingers; fingers of a piano player or perhaps an artist. His face was haggard, shadowed with stubble, his eyes we dull as they stared out at the world around him. What was his story I wondered, as I sat there, in the same room as him; in the same desolate world. I watched him from underneath my hood that was drawn up over my face, casting shadows upon the curiousness. His fingers shook lightly as he flick his ring finger off his thumb of the same hand holding the dimly lit cigarette. He raised it to his thin, chapped lips and took a deep breath, blowing the smoke out as if letting his worries float on the breeze. I fleetingly noticed a ring on his finger; it was a thin gold band that possibly held more meaning that its simplicity stated. He raised a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes in a tired, worn-out manner.
Grabbing a piece of paper that was rolled into a ball and shoved into my pocket, I drew a smiley face on it and wrote, "Today is a beautiful day; enjoy life as life has enjoyed you. Smile as I have smiled at you." Crushing the wrinkled paper back into a ball, I silently rose from my spot, walking briskly across the street I bumped into him, apologizing sincerely I dropped the piece of paper into his hand. Walking away I pulled my hood back up, as soon as I was far enough away I turned to look at him, he was staring at me, surprise etched onto his face. I smiled and tipped my fingers as if I was tipping a hat and slipped away into the crowd.