That old man up the street, he was standing in the rain. He had no coat or hat. His eyes were closed and he stood there facing up to the clouds and let the freezing rain fall on him. He was soaked to the skin. He was breathing heavy. His fists were clenched. He looked like he was enraged or maybe ready to scream. He was silent and let the rain fall. I think he was in pain.
That old man up the street, he used to round his kids up and go on trips. His wife would cook a banquet for the family and all the neighborhood kids. The house would light up everyone laughed together. No one went hungry. No one was alone. That old man he taught his children to live and survive. He built things. He fixed things. He kept it going for so long.
No one laughs in that house any more. No one visits. The old man is tired. He can't keep his yard. The house needs paint. What happened to his family? What did he do to deserve to live alone? How did he screw up what he had?
Maybe it isn't his fault. Maybe he is just unlucky. Maybe someone did this to him. Maybe it is fate, or the will of God.
Something drove him to stand in the rain and strain against time and the world. He will catch is death out there. Someone should ask him if he needs help. Someone should go over there.
I would go, but that look of agony on his face is healthy. If he looked delirious or shocked, I would worry. If he were gawking at the passers by or even sticking his tongue out at the kids, I would say something. He is a lonely old man crying in the rain to hide his tears from the neighbors. He is out there to feel something besides his life falling away every moment. He is quietly dying. He was simply too strong for too long.