He lifted the glass to his lips, the ache of hope in a burning breeze that he so wished would raze the pain. He drank deeply, this the time that his song should be sung; his voice should be heard amongst the throngs circling him in this hectic place. People moved without seeing, yet he the seer should be able to find his way. He had come far and yet he was alone with his drink and his bright colors. No matter how brightly he was lit, he was always in the dark. Putting the glass down, he walked away.