It was night, he stood by the traffic pole, just a few steps from home. The weight of the day tugged at the nerves of his shoulders causing his back to round and ache. He could drag himself home right now, discard his body onto the bed, but he lingers, a faint dot in a winter wasteland, a cigarette end on the corner of a street. His lungs take in the black ice air, holding it. His heart beats; time is frozen. Then out comes the mist. It glimmers and disappears into the sky like stars behind streetlights.
Excellent