He watches. Silently, apprehensively, the people that pass by him during day. Whenever he can-or wants to for that matter-he plops down in a withered chair by a corner street café, and watches. People on their phones, absorbed by the reflected light it so fevereshly emanates. Some have it glued by their ears, chatting and talking and shouting as cross the street in a hurry, disattentive to what is around them, to the other people, thousands of stories, that surround them. Others listen to music, or chat with their friends. Some look at him, others take the corner street café as the liminal space that it is and ignore it, proceed to their destination, so ever occupied. So ever unknowing. He likes to render himself visible to the human eye, sometimes. Not because he particularly enjoys sharing conversations with a species whose biggest priority is to track their Amazon delivery, but because they don't notice him anyway. When it's spring, he likes to sit outside, see how the sun blares down so decisively and yet never touches his skin.

So he just watches, sometimes smiles, because in their small window of existence, humans somehow manage to find their purpose. At least some of them do. Get married, have a family, get a career, save other people's lives, end other people's lives, check insurances, write books, make art. There is purpose, big or small. And they all cross the street so caught up in their own purpose, in getting to their job on time, taking those lecture notes, stressing about that one person they broke up with who is doing so much better than them. They walk, round the corner café, and proceed. Like they have the rest of eternity to live - like their days are not numbered, like there isn't a timer, looping in his head everytime he focuses on a specific person, counting down. Seven thousand days. Eight days, three hours, four minutes, sixty seconds. Eighty five days, one day, one hour, fifty minutes, thirty seconds. Each of them know it, in the back of their heads.

And yet all they do is cross the street, with purpose, or not.

And all he does is watch.