It had rained the night before — not a gentle rain, but the cold, autumn kind that hammered roofs for hours and turned the small-town park into a soggy patchwork of sluggish puddles. By morning, the air smelled of wet leaves, mud, and rusting playground metal. The sky hung low, the clouds swollen and undecided, hovering like they might break open again at any moment.
On the far side of the park, an old man moved slowly along the path —
his cane tapping a hesitant rhythm,
his boots sinking lightly into the damp soil,
his faded service jacket hanging loose on a frame that had once been carved from steel.
