blah

He stands alone in the musky gas station parking lot, dried splotches of oil curving around his worn leather shoes.  This city, more than others of his knowledge, continues its motions and tribulations without taking the smallest notice of him. It is a big, hot, congested city, lost in stabbings, shootings, under-the-breath curses, and apathy, the only rationalized response to justifiable paranoia. His backpack and beard have no place in this part of the Earth. Every suspicious eye that passes by hints at aggression, every salutation a plea against violence rather than a courtesy.