He puts down his empty cup of coffee, hesitates and gets up from where he sits. From his tattered coat pocket, he pulls out some coins and lays them neatly on the table. Shameful, and afraid, he looks around at the blank faces looking back at him. He is a man from a time long gone by. Head down, he walks to the corner of the door and stares out at the rain pounding upon the earth. It is a merciless day, and he knows this. He pulls out his dirty, ragged gloves and slips them slowly over his callous hands. It was a long day. The wind sipping through the partial opened door parts his coat edges, revealing his soiled breeches. He is alone in this world of loneliness.
He steps out into the rain no umbrella to shield him, the eyes still staring at this man from a time long gone by. His legs are heavy with toil, his hands hidden in the hole-ridden pockets. No one sees the tear through the rain, no one sees the pain through the shame. Head bowed low, he walks on, alone. He stumbles to the ground, his face crashing on the harsh pavement, the cement rough upon his skin. Upon this place tears, rain, earth and blood mate in this interplay of life.
And the little girl smiles, the joy sipping through her stained teeth. The eyes stare at this man from a time long gone by. She stands upon shoeless feet, soaking in the pouring rain. With the innocence of angels she holds out her hand to him. The feeble arms of youth anchor his weary feet. The callous hand rests upon her head and strokes her hair. More love than either of them have known. He continues on to his journey to nowhere, she moves on to her path of death.
The eyes still stare at this man from a time long gone by. She stares at this man of the times. And the rain pours, still.