Back Walking

I saw his back, walking away.  Hobbling down the icy stairs, kicking the salt about as his feet slid, barely scraping the pavement.  A brown knit cap covered his head, pulled down so low about his ears covering the lobes.  His jowels, jutting out are all I could make of his chin.  He wore a tattered and old black leather coat, now more gray than black, and drooping faded blue jeans.  His sneakers had to be 15 years young, if not more... wrinkled and worn, laces loose. They scraped the sidewalk crunching the salt and spraying it and the melting ice about.  His breath almost froze as he hobbled along, keys in his left hand, paper rolled into his right.  Damn he looks cold.  Damn I'm cold.  This is what cold looks like walking away...  a demon, shuffling along, quiet, reserved, blending into the world.... frigid.