|∞ x 365 7. man with dreads
||[Mar. 20th, 2008|10:16 pm]
I used to see you often, striding down the trail that ran beside my old house, your long winter coat flapping in the spring breezes. Your hair,long and tangled; no comb could tame it, scissors the only solution if, indeed, such a solution were ever sought. Your hands, black with months of accumulated dirt. Sometimes you would be muttering angrily, sometimes grimly silent, but never joyful, never easy or relaxed. I have seen you many times in the years since - you were eating a meal in the banking machine antechamber while I was withdrawing money. It was cold outside and you seemed to be enjoying your can of mushroom soup (Campbell's) and some sort of fast food in a wrapper. I was glad to see you in from the weather. I suspect there are many nights when your accommodation is less temperate. You have been curled up in a doorway as my quartet of Victorian carolers strolled by. I wonder if there is Christmas joy for you.