The yellow lights fell on the railway track

making the area look dirty and more neglected.

an old man made his way up the steps to the pedestrian bridge-

the one that covers the freeway.

He made his way half across

then stood, leaning against the wire fence

and looked down at the traffic.

I passed him on my way to town

and I passed him on my way back an hour later.

He had not moved.

If I grow old, I thought

I too will stand on that old bridge

and watch the traffic for an hour before heading back

to whatever lonely spot I call home.