He used to live on that corner. He and the little things he owns in this life; A chair that he can sleep on when it's dark enough and a couple of pictures of what he used to be.
They came one day and took the corner out of the street, they took the only place he can live in that round globe, they took his memories, his nights, his writings. They took the thoughts that used to decorate his walls.
They didn't see him. He's just a no one living in a corner.
He doesn't exist anymore. Without his corner, without his place on earth.
Who can exist without a home? a corner? a shelf to put his memories on?
He's not there. He doesn't exist.
Maybe you'll see him someday, a cornerless man walking down the street, on his own planet, his own dimension.
Your mind will be drifted to think about something else, and he'll cease to exist.