You know of a man off of Witberry. He stands like a statue off of Witberry. Watching. People think he is the man who unknowingly got frozen in time. He just stands off of Witberry, unblinking and unbreathing. Though he stands, his blue, blurry gaze frozen off. He’s staring at something. Perhaps it was the person who had frozen him in this manner?
People are rude to this man standing off of Witberry. They push him. Children climb on him. Poke him, until his mother says, “Come away, he is broken. He is broken and unfixable!” Then she’d usher the child off, as they squeak in protest. Teenagers of unbridled rage sometimes punch him and spraypaint his clothes. They write vulgar words on his clothing. But the next day the words are gone. Yet the clothes remain the same.
No one cares of the man. Except for you, who just moved into the apartment across the street, on Witberry. You have no clue who this lanky, blond, blue-eyed man is doing, or what his deal is.
He just stares and never moves.
