He waits by the corner everyday.

He waits patiently, singing a song, humming the tune, the melody everchanging, but the song's always the same. He pulls his cap down further and squints his eyes. He ties his shoe in the same old way. Loop, loop, crossover, firm knot. He's a people watcher. He watches all the mommas pulling around their babies and little children. The bypassers wear baggy clothing in the hot daylight and the business men hum their showtunes and click their heels together in a spur of the moment jump. Same old thing everyday but he's used to it.

He never sits down. He claims he's too good for the dirty earth beneath him so he leans against a wall littered with graffitti in reds, browns, greens, and oranges. Same old thing for him all the time. He never changes. Maybe it's because he's scared to evolve into something lesser or greater than who he already is. So he plays it safe, leaning against the wall, too good to sit down, and humming the tune in his mind. And when I pass by him everyday, I'd like to think I can sense what he's feeling. Maybe…he's waiting for some greater resolution and a better way to live this design he calls life.

But yet, it's allways the routine for him. And the unknowing neighborhood girls have a song for him. When they play with jump ropes and sing their little songs, they come up with new ones. Ones about Josh.

Head up, face down. Don't let those tears touch the ground. And he's afraid so 1, 2, 3, 4, don't let the wind hit the door. And he says, 5, 6, 7, 8, no need to feel lesser than great. Head up, face down, don't let those tears touch the ground.

And still, he waits by the corner everyday.