You can't write poem about a sad man

It's about half past 5.
And sadness is the only thing at hits
As a lonesome man
Sits at a booth ,
Alone……

His face as scared as scarface,
His hair long and brown,
His features as sharp as lifter.
I shift inside the restaurant door.
Trying to keep the cold drift,
of december out.

The aroma of the greasy food hits me,
sizzling tastebuds running around my mouth.
Causing my mouth to water.
The faint smell of pickles,from behind the counter
The smell of grease ,
¨Fissssss¨ from the frying pan.
The popping of the carbon,
in the pop ¨Sssssssss¨.
All hits me at once.

The wind almost ,
knocked out of me!
As I find the man,
Behind the booth ,
Glaring at me.
His glare as frozen and cold as the winter nights.
I make my way ,to the table
As I grasp his sharp needle face!

I wake up,
Laying in the middle of the road!
As if I had been sleeping.
My hands frozen as a popsicle,
My body as stiff as a statue,
And my eyes locked to the bright sky.
As the man,
From the booth,
Is now starring at me!

With his hand lightly held out,
Waiting for my cold hand to meet his.
My fingers gently run against the,
Winter air!
Reaching to grasp his hand.
He lifts me up  wrapping his arm around me,
swallowing my body up.

My thoughts race.
¨I'm the sad one¨
And that man is my happiness !

My alarm clock rings,
As I wake up,
From this dreadful dream.

My back aches,my head hearts,
My eyes burn and ,my mouth's dry
All of this happends when i awaken.

I don't remember much.
But one thing,
I remember is...
You can't write about a sad man.
If the sad man doesn't exist!