Transcendent

A boy with messy, curly black hair tied back into a ponytail disdainfully sits in a crowded café, methodically scrawling with charcoal onto a piece of paper. He's plain looking- all for the light scar he has painted into his collarbone. He sucks in his cheeks and grabs his mug with long ivory fingers, wincing at the heat and then taking a sip. He stares at the other patrons. There's nothing special about them. Each is dressed plainly, with dull faces, deep under eye bags, and droll grimaces that they use to greet each new comer. He shakes his head looks out the window. The sidewalk is dirty. The road filled with potholes. He chuckles and looks up at the looming marble skyscrapers. They're beautiful, but nothing more than a facade.

"The lush grass on top a landfill is still part of the landfill." He mutters as he folds up the collar of his military jacket, runs a hand through his hair and promptly leaves.