The abandoned buildings were shells of inhabitants past like spider webs with no spiders. The hot tar of the street was almost squishy and The Boy thought about chewing it.
Clouds of smoke billowed from high-rise building fires melting into clouds of clouds in the ominous afternoon sky. Anger and fear hung in the air like a hot fog.
The Man sat down in the middle of the street cross-legged and smiled at the bun toasting he instantly received from the hot tar. Over easy or sunny-side up?
The Boy stood back fifty feet away and off to the side watching The Man with incredulous incredulity. Trying to know the reasons. Like, why is there so much bird shit on this street? The boy thought about chewing the tar again. This time with bird-shit condiments.
The empty store-front windows that lined the narrow street reflected the scene and gave the sense of multiple camera angles. The Convoy was making its way towards the Man in the Road.
The Boy leaned against a street lamp and stared on with a look of bewilderment mixed with an awareness of imminent doom. He looked like someone who had been chewing asphalt with bird-shit condiments. His white t-shirt shone on the empty street like a bright light contrasting all of the drab of browns and grays. As the noise of the vehicles (tanks?) and shouting grew nearer his heart beat faster and faster.
Men on Horses with multiple weapons tethered to their bulging dirty uniforms rolled up the street looking to flatten things.
The Boy walked slowly backwards blending into the shadows of the over-hang of jutted building jigsaw pieces.
Three men trickled ahead of the pack to The Man Sitting in the Street.
Words were spoken.
The Man in the street didn’t move.
Dirty Uniform in the Middle shot him in the head. The Man on the street jolted backwards as if he had been shot in the head.
The gun shot echoed and faded away into loud silence. All was still…for a moment.
The Boy went to the middle of the road…and sat down…cross legged.
Drawing by Eleanor Rigby