The bench outside. It's home to a man. Not a homeless man; he doesn't actually live there. He just sits. And waits.

Waits for the bus. Waits for the rain clouds to pass. Waits for his granddaughter to run to him and wrap her arms around his neck.

Waits for the Big Mac to catch up with him. Waits for the Diet Coke to take its toll.

Waits to be taken away from this world.

His head is a funny place to be. Scenes of the Second Great War. Scenes of the love of his life walking towards him, dressed in white. Scenes of his children growing. Scenes of happiness. Scenes of despair.

But his face is even more interesting to watch. The smile never leaves its home. Even when he watches Sergeant Michael Smith be blown to shreds. Even when he watches his baby girl, Elizabeth, gasp for breath as her lungs failed for the final time. Nothing inside changes the outside.

I got a change to talk to him once, but he didn't understand me. Though I know everything about him, every little detail. He doesn't see me, and that is okay; that is expected.

But one day soon, we will part and never more will he wait. Never more will the scenes flash through his mind.

Nevermore will the smile he has known forever be plastered on his face. Even when everyone he knows surrounds him for the last time.

You see, he cannot be without me. But he doesn't recognize my constant presence. So I'll stand dutifully by his side until we must part, and I'll just hope he realizes I'm there, like I always have been.