Every day
Diary of a black and white photographer 3
He was sitting outside the metro, bundled up in layers that struggled to counter the biting cold. His hands, rough and trembling, held an old goblet that tinkled softly with a few coins. The mist of crossed breaths mingled with the cold, but the world around him went on, hurried and indifferent. He didn't scream or beg; his eyes told the story, a quiet, tired hope in the face of winter's relentless cold. For a moment, under the streetlamps, he wasn't invisible, just a man facing the cold, waiting to regain his rights.