It was shown through his every movement.

That languid glide of his being as he made his

way through the busy city streets. As though

he were as graceful, or daunting, as a figure

of power. Yet, he was nobody.



He was just another person trying to find his

way in the world. The only difference

between he and the rest, was that he had

mastered the art of projection. That slant of

the eyes, curve of the lips, the soothing of

the voice . . . That, thing.



The thing that many folks find themselves

searching for throughought their lifetimes.

That thing called confidence.



Through his thirty, or so years, he had seen

more than the average city folk. He had seen

the terrible childhood, tragic deaths, the

occurance of utter loneliness . . . war on the

streets, war in another country.



He had seen loneliness through the filter of

not knowing any better, and loneliness

through the filter of he didn't have anybody.

That moment when the street was his only

solace. The one thing that he knew would be

there, day in and day out.



That once look of dignity, pride and

confidence -- melted. It melted away to

expose an individual much like the rest of

everyone else. A fragile human who simply

managed to make his way along, even if just

for a little while.



But, as told as a child, "All good things come

to an end." Little did he know, all them years

ago, that everything was but a collection of

an overly exaggerated ego.



When life was thrust into his face, and he had

no choice but to face it . . . it was revealed

that sometimes there was success, and there

was sometimes failure . . . It was at the end of

his failure that he discovered that truly, he

was only human.