The Singer.

[Kitosdad]

The old man stood on the same corner every day. He asked for nothing from passers-by, but he was sometimes rewarded with a bright "Good morning" from those who had grown accustomed to seeing him standing there.

He silently observed the comings and goings of the townspeople, and he would sometimes wave to the little children who looked at him from the confines of their buggies being pushed by their busy young mothers.
Time passed slowly for him these Winter days. The daylight came later and the darkness arrived earlier with each passing day.
He only ever moved away from his place should the rain start to fall.

Then he would shuffle into the nearby railway station and buy a cup of tea from the ever-busy stalls that were scattered around the huge interior of the station.
It was warmer here and well-lit, and yet he preferred to stand in the pale Winter sunshine at his favourite corner, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his well-worn overcoat.

This particular morning he was stricken with a deep melancholy and he hummed to himself.
The music filled his soul with warmth and a feeling of well-being, so much so, that he opened his mouth and started to sing the soulful melody.
Passers-by slowed to a halt, each one appreciating the soulful refrain issuing from the lips of this old man.
When he at last finished his song there was a subdued silence in the huge station, and then the assembled audience applauded their appreciation for his singing.
The old man smiled gently at this approbation and smiled at his appreciative audience. They surged for ward and tried to press money into his hand, but he adamantly refused to accept any reward, simply thanking one and all for their glowing comments.

Today he stands on the same corner and smiles at the many well-wishers who smile at him in return. He has had his moment of glory and it will remain in his memory for a very long time.

Kitos.
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Keep it simple ... Keep it interesting.