post mortal shuffle dance

standing there on the curb below the red plastic ventilation duct and the small fissure below the brace. he waved at the misinterpreted passing phase. yellow, fast and bustling, it was not what or who he thought. the occupation let him down. the operation turned him around. he was longer than his trenchcoat now. frayed, he swayed. touched the soft white gravel with the butts and the cuts and all the walked on passing lanes. not sure where he heard that sound, past the breakwall toward to pound. the automatic door used to be a novelty, now the warden spends his time backed up against the gift shop breezeway post.