Something to come of it Part 2

It was the gray of the morning when he lifted his head off the kitchen table, it pulled off with a sticky suction sound as his skin detached from the yellow and black plastic flowered table cloth.
He looked out the open door at the buildings bending in the early light. He watched as the people began to slowly to leave their small and large buildings. There was a man in a high-class blue suit sitting on the bus-bench reading the paper. The lady next to him sat awkwardly with her umbrella next to him, holding her briefcase tight against her chest and looking on in disgust as the people marched by. Cars filled the road, fighting each other for time, people climbed in and out, coming and going with importance leaving buildings for other buildings, larger and more omnipotent.
A small man wearing a tight business jacket talked awkwardly with himself as he weaved through the taller people saying over and over again, “Yes sir I’ll have that for you.” And, “No sir, I can assure you that wont happen again.” He walked past the man on the bus-bench, he continued with his paper. The lady with the umbrella turned in sleepy disdain seeing the man, seeing the too small jacket. The small man pushed on with his head down and with strong apology, noticing each square of the sidewalk as he weaved through the people going with importance to work.
The house was cold. He stood up from the table, walked to the door, and went outside. The people were everywhere. He walked down the steps and watched an old man in the ally hunched over the back of a chair his closed eyes staring deep into the oil stained ally. The buildings reached high casting a penetrating shadow down on him and onto the street. He beard was yellow and wet with the new day, and his eyes were lost in the wrinkles surrounding them. The old man’s breathing was sporadic as he twitched in the empty hollow breeze that comes before daylight. The old man quietly sat up straight, convulsed gently, and vomited.
“Are you ok?”
“No.” The old man quietly stated, wiping the excess from the side of his face. “Are you?” He asked starkly.
“Yes.” He lied.
“Then why are you still here?”
“Sorry, I was just…”
“Well go somewhere else and just…” The old man stuttered mockingly.
“Sorry.” Anson replied honestly.
He remained transfixed by the awkwardness of the situation his embarrassment clamping his shoes to the sidewalk.
The old man stared back with hardness. A sweet human odor filled the ally.
“Do you have a place to go?”
The old man turned hard and the wrinkles around his eyes tightened. He stood slow, the sweet smell functioning more aggressively, then coughed, forcing his insides to clear out and walked away up the ally. Anson stood and watched as the sun finally broke free of the tall buildings and crept down the alley after the old man.