Do people come here often? I ask.

Sometimes. The ghostlike male replies.

Do you inhale often? I wonder.

Often? I inhale everyday Son.

How long have you been here? I question.

Son, I honestly don't know. At first, I would count the days and nights that passed

but inhaling has left me at a loss with times craft.

I guess I could start counting for the both of us then, I tell him.

Why would you do such a thing?

Well, Sir, I have no place left to go.

My house is no longer considered my home.

My loved ones no longer have love left to share with me.

I never worked independently.

So I am better here,

under this tree with you.

Across from the bridge,

watching unfamiliar strangers drive by,

and simply letting life

be untied, I tell him.

Son, life is made up of a hundred complicated lifelong ties.

Mistakes are made, and people change.

But living under this tree is the worst mistake you will ever make.

I don't think you understand Sir,

No one wants me back or in their lives.

I'm meant to be lost in this world, alone.

There has to be at least one soul out there looking for you Son.

I don't think so, I tried reassuring him.

What bad could you have possibly done?

Drugs got a hold of me, it happened after my old man died.

Started off innocently with weed,

but my needs grew stronger, which led me to LSD

and later worsened with cocaine.

I started stealing from my mom,

and I abandoned my pregnant girlfriend,

then I quickly disappeared.

I woke up in the hospital two times- barely alive.

Once in handcuffs, and the other time- well I couldn't tell ya.

Tried getting clean, tried getting my act together

but here I am, suffering from withdrawal and nearly dead.

Eh, it ain't that bad Son, the old man said.

I've done worse, I assure you- he grinned.

I'll tell you something though: drugs aren't shit in this world.

Wake up from this nightmare you've gotten yourself lost in,

Open up your eyes, and

go back to where you came from,

and hope for this to never happen again, he says to me.

What will I do though? How can I overcome all of this alone? I ask him for advice.

Anything, he says, except letting your life go to waste.

Well then you must join me until the end, I replied as I reached out my hand for him to grab.

I couldn't, he says.

Why not? I ask.

Because I am an old man and there is no point in my return.

There are no hopes left for me except for living my last few weeks under this tree.

That is not true, I said.

Just because you are old does not mean you can give up.

Plus if you do not come with me, I will probably end up living on 47th street's bench.

The old man laughed and looked at the lost boy with tears in his eyes. He grabbed the lost boys hand firmly and together they left the tree behind.