StoppedClock
Scowling with no good humor, the old man sat on the bench in the middle of the park. Autumn painted the landscape golden. Crisp air cut through the wrinkles of his face. Sitting next to him was a woven basket full of nothing except tissue papers used in gift bags. People of all ages walked right on past his serious mug. A single leaf fluttered down swishing back and forth, finally resting on the bald top of the man. Still as a statue he continued to sit even as a squirrel pecked at his polished shoes.