Fear.

Fear. Mister Fear. Lean and tall. He is clad in black, wears a bowler hat whose brim you can discern in the outline of his silhouette when the light falls from behind. His clothes are smart and he never is apart with him alike thin umbrella which he ultrasonically leans on the cold, concrete ground. And I fear him. He is also veiled in an atmosphere of apprehension and angst in the rawest forms of raw. The womb kind of raw. You can never see his countenance so don't bother googling him.