As I walked through the cold, lonely streets of Mungallala, I decided to take the shortcut home Making a sharp left, I began to head towards the alleyway, which was dull and sinister.
The only sound of the night came from my own feet dragging over many pebbles and stones on the cement. The breeze was very vehement and piercing upon my body felling like needles hammering into my flesh
From somewhere in the distance I sensed movement as I progressed closer, anxiety and fear grew. The first thing I observed about him was his clothing. He was dressed in a printed t-shit, a pair of plain old thongs, bored shorts firmly at his knees held up by a black rusty belt, buckled loosely around his bony hips. He was tall, and bow legged, and freckled, he had blond hair and small ringed cobalt eyes, and what frequently goes with such things.
He sat on a dirty rustic mental box that was on the ground, hugging his knees close to his chest to protect himself from the cold. His eyes gazed and never left the pile of empty beer cans, which lay two feet away in front of him. The only movement was his constant and continuous shivering. I looked down from a distance to see a bent piece of cardboard reading “help me” heled in his swollen blistered hands. I didn’t who this person was or what he was doing.
My life never was never surrounded around people who sat across the street with signs asking for help. I lived in the city with a house, a car and both parents. The house had windows that was so large it reminded me of a store front, it’s triple glazed and so clear that the panorama is like a high definition screen at the movie theatres. The birds travel past, buffeted by the winds that whistle through these buildings, as if to remind us that we’re in space. The city below is so far away its like another world, those antlike people, and the buildings, the city life.