Beneath the shade of a tree, a man sits on the curb, his head bowed, his sombrero obscuring his face, with an empty bottle of Jose Cuervo nearby — a silent moment of escape, a way to disconnect from the weight of reality. His posture, slumped in quiet surrender, hints at a longing to lose himself, even if only for a while, in the fog of the present. The sombrero and bottle become symbols of fleeting refuge, as the man retreats into the stillness of his own mind, seeking solace from the world that surrounds him.