Through the old dry eyes the tight lipped man sees exploitation only the breakdown of nature His hands swollen and rough from the many hard years of caressing the land His dreams no longer contain the youthful light they once held they now picture his future his death lonely, maybe in the dark cold of an ally behind the piled garbage He sees no comfort in his loneliness no hope of new companionship So he stands his face and shoulder pressed firmly against the cold stone wall a wall that has become his friend one wall which borders the ultra rich People who are looking for a few nights nights when they can be treated with the respect they think they deserve Men and women dressed in thousand dollar gowns and suites acting as if the word was created for them They strut past the mans distant gaze ignoring his hard chiseled face and his strange broad shoulders He stretches closing the weak eyes The rain begins to fall dripping from his chin as aged forbidden tears.