Gemotions

He stared at the city skyline, a concrete jungle reflecting the desolate landscape of his mind. The cold wind whipped around him, carrying the sounds of the city, all of which seemed distant and muted. He was at a street corner, waiting for the light to change. The busker’s melody, carried on the breeze, was the opening of his song. He felt the blood leave his face. Another voice, another interpretation. He’d stopped playing a year ago, the thrill gone. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, the chill settling into his bones. The light shifted, and he crossed the street.