Ever passerby has its story. My story starts on wooden bench waiting for something to come. I had disappointed someone and I felt nothing but the eyes of the common man, beaming down me as I waited for the train. Tears streamed down my face as she told me not to come tonight. The convenient store owner worked away into the midnight oil. A man had just broke his glasses. A couple meet for an embrace. The bag I held no longer hurt to carry. I now had a new burden. My story ends with a lonely walk and cigarette in hand. Not all stories must have a happy ending