Down the dark alley, a presence loomed. It seemed to beckon, stretching an invisible, ghostly hand to me. I want to come to it. Anyone would want to explore anything mysterious. Wouldn't they?
Down the dark alleyway, there sat a man. His clothes had gone months without washing, a beard rented his chin. His hair; a mass of curls, flattened by a tight cap. His hands went up to his mouth, never still. Twitching, shaking bones brushed against his mouth. A rat fed on crumbs of bread, which was his breakfast, lunch and supper. The man and rat. Of rats and men. I couldn't tell the two of the men I saw apart. They were the same. Equal. Indistinguishable.
This man wasn't homeless.
He was a great man.
He came up with the idea of the phone.
He invented the space shuttle.
He invented computers.
He's a terrorist.
He's a murderer.
He's a musician.
He's a scriptwriter.
He could be a world famous actor.
He's a homeless man.
He is none of these things, yet he can be all of them. You can imagine him to be all these things. Your choice.
We may never know.