Walk, don't Walk.

In a concrete jungle, two men were trapped.

Mr. Red; an ex-marine.
Easily identified by his brick-red, double breasted, suit,
                                rosy cheeks
                                firey hair
                                and harsh stance.
A (once) proud man; now bitter and angry, red with resent. Confided to living the rest of his life inside of a black box - void of any possibility.

Mr. Green; an addict.
With a sickeningly pale complexion (and his green tracksuit), he sits alone in the dark of the black box he inhabits; only occasionally does he stroll to stretch his withered legs.
Once the life of the party
        - now depressed and green with envy.

Two men, neighbours. Irony: Parallels in streets of total interaction.
How sad: So similar, so (perfect for one another) - yet their whole being restricts them from their soulmate.

Crossing lights.

Buzz