It's another tough day to squeeze a post in. Sitting at the open desk where you're in full view requires some artful window re-sizing. Anyway, I've run out of steam (har har) as far as yesterday's post goes. Ideas for continuing haven't been forthcoming, so I've been sitting here attempting to come up with something new.
Some type of prompt would be marvelous.
The brittle, hacking cough reverberated between the two tall brick buildings. Shuffling through the trash strewn alley, the ragged homeless man paused briefly again, coughing to the point of convulsions; he retched up the evening's liquid breakfast, spattering another layer of filth onto a grimy dumpster. Clutching his stomach, he staggered out into the pre-dawn murk, lurching in fits and starts to the closest city bus stop. He claimed the single bench as his own, stretching out with a shuddering moan. The clock rolled over to the daily commute hour, summoning the city's denizens to work. As they surged around him he stretched out a single hand, palm up in mute petition, seeking help that would never arrive. The milling flow of human traffic ignored his plight, their eyes sliding over his supine form, noses raised or pinched in distaste, gaits sped up to bypass the wasted form.
He expired there on the scuffed plastic bench. Frozen in silent plea, arm raised--the day wore on. Municpial workers eventually arrived and gathered up his rigid form once the smell became too great. No footnote in the obituaries was logged that evening or the next, no blurb on the six o clock news--just a splattered crust of vomit on a dumpster marked his passing.