The old Buick clunked down the roads towards shady downtown area, where the moonlight is rarely seen through the cracks of the buildings. The car, whose sole purpose was once to hold a family, now carried a man, whose life was washed down with the bitterness of hard liquor. His bloodshot eyes moved back and forth, struggling to see through the distorted gaze. His hair was slicked back, the same way it was every day. The man clung to the wheel as he journeyed away from his usual watering hole through the concrete jungle, towards his home. He knew the way home from the bar by heart no matter what type of state he was in. He had to look out for himself because there was nobody else who would.

Every night in the past, the regulars at the bar would notice the man, with his receding hair line, weary eyes and sunken face. They rarely made conversation with this stranger who, though there basically every night, was a mystery to them. The stranger would sit there night after night, listening to the snide comments made from across the bar by the haggard men.
“Hey buddy, what’s it like sittin’ in an office all day, fillin’ out paper work, lettin’ others boss you around day after day?”
“Ya, what kind of man are ya? Gotta get yourself a real job!”
“Ain’t no way you’d ever see me answering to some self-entitled, know-it-all in a suit!”
Little did they know this silent stranger no longer had to fill out paper work day after day nor would they ever know the struggle of being laid off after twenty years of hard work. No longer did he have to sit in the same empty office cubical all day, or answer to the same suited know-it-all. His cubical, now left completely empty, sat waiting, ready to suck all hope of success and confidence out of its next victim.
The man continued driving, alone and jobless, along the same winding road that stretched from one end to the other, passing right through the heart of the city. He passed by the old bakery, the one that he and wife would go to every Sunday morning to buy bagels. The memories of her returned back to his cloudy thoughts. He looked back, remembering the bright lights and sirens that glared through the late day, springtime fog. It was twelve years today, since he had last seen the rosy cheeks and the bright smile of his wife. After that, it was only cold and white: white face, cold hands, and lifeless eyes. They never found the man that took away her last breath as she strode across the street only to come face to face with a bustling, racing demon.
Quickly, the man swerved to the left, taking the same route the driver that day did. As the man turned the last corner, he began traveling down to glimpse the spot where his wife, his long lost love, died upon. He made his way down the foggy street, as the rain began splashing down from the early morning sky. He came closer to the crosswalk, which was surrounded by the old, musty buildings: the ones that now lingered with worn down frames and ragged awnings. Making his way down the road, he splashed through puddles which surrounded the curbs and newly blossomed trees. As he came closer to the middle of the street, something, through his foggy gaze, caught his eye.
A person, who seemed as faint as smoke, appeared in the middle of the road. They rose higher than the shallow mist that spread out through the street and appeared as only a dark figure. One street lamp remained lit, being able to only light up the two cars parked on each side of the deserted avenue. The man pulled over to the side of the street, never taking his eye off the shadowed figured that appeared almost spontaneously. He sat in his car a moment, deciding whether or not to approach the person. Reaching over, he grabbed his briefcase and slowly opened the door, gradually creeping out of the car. Foot by foot, he stepped out of the old beat up car, never taking his eyes off the figured which stood unlit in the middle of the road.
As he continued to get out, he stopped, looking closely at the figure. A befuddled look came over his face as he slowly put his briefcase to the ground. Standing up, he made his way over to figure, leaving the door open behind him. As he walked closer and closer, he could hear the soft drips from the gutters, which were overflowing from vegetation and lack of care. They looked as though they hadn’t been touched in months. Neither did the clouded windows of the shops below or the chipped paint from the sides of the buildings. Not a piece of light was seen through any apartment or shop window as the man continued to walk towards the figure that seemed to have the shape of a woman.
Nearing her he began to make out the curly brown hair of his wife: then, the soft smile and the precise cheekbones. He stopped; his eyes wide from amazement and confusion. They stood face to face in the middle of the street. The man, ever so gently, raised his shaking hands. Slowly, they both reached out, just barely touching the tops of each other’s finger tips. They stood looking as though they were newlyweds at the altar, grasping one another’s hand down by their waist. The man stood in disbelief. His forehead wrinkled in, staring through his drunken mindset and squinting eyes.
“Sarah?” He whispered.
All of a sudden the lights behind him flicked on. The noise of morning alarms blared out through the slightly cracked windows, piercing through the sound of the mellow rain. He looked back through his hazy gaze, as he saw the shop owners start to wake up and make their way down to the stores. He quickly turned back to his wife who was then gone without a trace. Alone he stood in the middle of the road, old suit soaked from standing outside. The grease from his hair slowly seeped down through his old yellow shirt as the man stood with his hands still out by his waist, looking down at the road which once held his motionless wife.