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A single cloud drifted slowly in the darkening sky. Passing behind the large wooden cross stationed atop the old abandoned church. He stood on the first step in front of the building. The old blue bicycle resting on his leg and a single white flower in his hand. Gently he set the bicycle against the steps and drew towards the wooden doors. Kneeling, he placed the flower at the edge of the door. The wind began to pick up, rustling his worn blue suit jacket, and swaying his silver streaked hair.
The people of the street witnessed this event once a week, almost religiously. The children stared and whispered, "mr. grey" as he rode to and from the church. Everyone had their own idea of who he was, what he did. Yet not a one of them ever talked to him. No one even knew his name.
He stood up again, slowly drifting back to the old blue bicycle. His motions where fluid, if you didn't look closely enough...you might see a ghost rather than a man. Lifting his leg, sitting on the bike, and placeing his feet on the pedals. He gently glided away.