A man sat on a curb, smoking a cigarette, waiting for nothing to happen. A bottle of red wine rested between his legs, and it was half empty. Next to him was a battered transistor radio with its antenna raised, and the Pilgrims' Chorus eased from it statically, vaguely competing with the thrum of intermittent traffic. People walked past him as the humid night deepened, and they would glance at him, thinking their thoughts as they went.
     He disregarded them all, as if they did not exist.
     "Here kitty kitty kitty..." he muttered through a drunken drawl. "Come here pussy cat."
     An old woman paused on the other side of the street, startled by his words, clumsy wit struggling to register, within her fermented mind. She did not know what to think when she saw the man. She was afraid and confused. She was in her own world. She then moved along, glancing forward and back, back and forward, awkwardly moving along, nearly stumbling. She wondered if she was the pussy cat.
     "Come here kitty...don't be afraid."
     A tiny black kitten lingered behind an old oak tree, near where the woman had stood, where it meandered cautiously, studied him curiously. It gave a timid meow, and then pittered across the street with its tail raised. The man smiled gently as it came, and a moment later, it was beneath him, sliding against his legs, purring along with the Pilgrims' Chorus. It seemed hungry. "Are you lonely?" the man inquired softly. "Do you need a friend?" The kitten chirped in seeming response, and climbed atop the man's leg. It had seen better days.
     "I'll be your friend little one," he soothed. "I'll be your friend."
     For the next few moments, the man cradled the kitten, and smiled distantly, as it peered innocently up into his face. It's eyes were like jewels, bathed in the light of an alien sun, and in them, the man saw something that made him feel sad to be human. He took a final drag from his cigarette, and let a stale cloud drift away with melancholic ease.
     "The world inherits its meek..." the man whispered to himself as he dropped the butt into a puddle. It hissed as it entered, and for a moment he lost himself in the amber shimmers of street glow, melodically spilled upon the dark surface of all things. He then sipped back some more wine, and held the bottle to his lips as he listened to the Pilgrims Chorus draw to a graceful close. The kitten stirred restlessly, and was enraptured by the man's every move. It seemed hungry.
     "Is there a problem here?"
     The voice came from behind, invisibly, out of nowhere, and settled upon his shoulders with a phantom chill. The man took another sip of wine before responding, and did not look back. Adagio in G minor now crept through the midnight air.
     "That's probably a good question," the man muttered apathetically. "But its probably one that only God can answer." He gazed off into the shadowy verdure of the park across the street.
     "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to get up and move along. You can't be drinking that on a public sidewalk."
     "Life's a public sidewalk..." the drunken man commented thoughtfully. "Full of cracks...lined with bustops. Get up...and move along."
     He languidly rose to his feet, picked up his radio, leaving his bottle, and began to cross the street without looking back, without looking both ways. He could hear his bottle clink on the pavement to the low tune of a grumbling sentiment. What remained behind him was a mystery. The kitten circled him as he swayingly progressed, eagerly meowing.