It was a morning hour. Not an early morning hour thought not
a late one. There were people outside. However, the avenue
was not too crowded with people. He wore a suit, hat,
sunglasses and leather shoes when he walked in the avenue.
His walking was smooth, quick paced. He was obviously in a
hurry. He was not late. He simply walked the kind of walk
you walk on your way to work in the morning.

As he kept walking, his shoes began to stick to the ground.
He thought he stepped on a gum. However, he didn't notice
stepping on anything. The smoothness of the walking and its
quick pace were harmed. He stopped. He checked underneath
the sole of his right shoe and found no trace of sticky
substance. There was dirt from the street, a tiny hole from
a thumbtack he stepped on at work once, but no gum. He
checked the other shoe. Nothing. He kept walking.

His legs began to feel heavy. He felt as though his shoes
turn into sticky weights, which weight increases as it
decreases the pace of his walking. Moving each leg forward
became more and more of a mission. He had to fight the
sticky gravity power that kept his shoes closed to the
ground. He felt all his muscles working in attempt to keep
his feet of the ground.

He stopped. Torn between his right and left leg, he could
have made not one step forward. He was stuck. He took a deep
breath, and pulled his leg up. It moved only a little, no
even enough to separate the ground from his shoe sole. He
was stuck.

He stood like that for a couple of moments. By passers kept
walking as usual, ignoring the standing man among them. He
took his one leg off his shoe. The bare leg was hanging in
the air. He brought it down gently, but the leg stuck to the
pavement. With his last powers, he managed to bring his leg
up again. He leaned on the shoe. He took his cell phone from
his pocket and called work to let them know he will be late.


An hour passed, than another, than another. He kept
standing. His legs began to hurt. He couldn't stand anymore.
He took his jacket off and laid it on the pavement. He took
his other leg off his shoe and sat on his jacket, on the
pavement.

By passers gave him a look and went on with their lives. It
was not so bad sitting on the pavement, legs crossed,
watching other lives go by. It almost felt like sitting in a
restaurant. But there were two things missing.

"Excuse me, excuse me ma'am... will you be so kind and do me
a little favor... I'm all right ma'am... thank you ma'am but
I'm all right... I just need a little favor from you
ma'am... thank you... that's... very kind of you..."

The lady came back with a hot cup of coffee and the morning
paper. Fortunately, he had his wallet with him when he left
his car. It could have caught him taking his dog for a walk.
He read the paper, sipped his coffee, and smiled to himself.
It was a peculiar way refresh himself before the upcoming
day. He also had a great excuse for not coming to work. Oh,
that. He was now sure he won't be going to work.

The coffee did its job. He needed to go. That was quite a
mess now. He couldn't step outside the confines of his
jacket on his pavement. But he really needed to go. He held
it as much as he could.

It was not pleasant, but he had a plan. He had to take his
hat off. He laid the morning paper on his hips. He hoped no
one was watching when he unzipped his zipper. He knew they
were. It made him smile again. He hoped no one was watching.
He knew they were - and didn't care.

Oh, that was a relief. He had to get rid of that hat though.
He zipped himself up, looked down to his paper, knowing that
beneath its pages is a sixty dollars worth hat with his own
piss in it. Then, he couldn't help it. His laughter was so
great that he dropped his hat and spilled all of his piss on
himself. It wasn't funny anymore. He felt the warm fluid
staining his pants, legs, sox, and underwear.

By passers began to notice him now. He had covered himself
with the morning paper, spreading some more pages on the
pavement so he could lay his head on the paper. He slept on
the pavement. But it was not comfortable. He had to lean on
something. He leaned on his hand. But it wasn't enough. He
took his hat, turned it upside down, put it on one of his
shoes, which was still stuck to the pavement, and leaned his
had on it. He didn't think about it too much. He simply fell
asleep to the rays of the midday sun warming his body.

People began to notice him now. They walked away from the
man who slept on the pavement, smelling from piss. Those who
didn't dropped a coin into his other shoe. Others ignored
him. He became a part of that street as much as the benches
were.