A man sits on a park bench, hands between his knees. His legs are spread apart, forced away from eachother by the force of his body leaning down. The fall sun lights up his neck, but offers him no heat. A skeletal tree shakes from a rising breeze, dropping gold and bronze leaves on the man's brown felt suit. He ignores the leaves, letting them catch in his tangled hair, dangle from his un-kept beard. He shudders as the breeze reaches him, or at least it seems that way. His taut face turns up, and his eyes lock into a passing stranger's. The dry face is broken  by winding rivers of salt water, waterfalling from his chin to the cement below.