It was night. He stood by the traffic pole just a few steps from his apartment. The weight of the day tugged at the nerves of his shoulders rounding him. His back was an ache. He could have dragged himself inside, discarded his body onto bed and his mind into air, but instead he lingered on the sidewalk, a faint dot in a winter wasteland, a cigarette butt on the corner of a street. His lungs took in a black ice wind, holding it. His heart was the only warm and beating thing–time lied frozen. Then emerged the mist, his exhaled soul. It glimmered and disappeared, lost to the sky, and faded like stars behind streetlamps.
Excellent