The Invisible Man

He walked up and down the River Market careful not to linger anywhere too long so as not to be called a vagrant or a nuisance. His hair was matted and his black jeans were caked with brown. He passed many people on his strolls but all turned away. He is not part of our world. He wanders as a ghost in a land he does not belong. We sat in a restaurant and I watched as the world avoided his presence. I had my camera and longed to take his picture. He was gone when we stepped out from our fulfilling lunch. His belly empty except for the remnants of last night’s cheap whiskey.

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