Expecting green.

They’d all come to a halt that day. Seemingly by chance. Now dispassionately standing by
the red melancholy city center light.

There was the grumpy one slightly over weight, who never got laid and always misplaced his
reading glasses on his head. The mysterious lady under the red umbrella, carrying a chihuahua in her tote bag, harboring secret desires of posing nude for René Magritte. Even Karl Dickman, constantly with a finger in his mouth grabbing his penis, but to name a few.

All there caught by a red light. Seemingly by chance, expecting the liberating green light …
it never came.