still homeless beggars sit
by SAYSO

Waiting to cross he watches the headlights pass into taillights: on the other side is chaos.

“What night is it?”, he wonders, as he steps from the road onto pavement. “It could be any night in this mall”, he mutters while dodging the drunks who stagger and fall between venues he never knows.

Home post-haste is down through the mall and around to the station. A minute’s walk by day is minutes more by night, and at this time, on this night, people walk from everywhere; some towards him uphill; others in front as they spill between crowded pubs on each side. Still homeless beggars sit with legs stretched out like speed bumps.

Football fans in jerseys walk his way while police trail behind them bearing presence. “Game night”, he nods, “So what night is it?” Through a gap in the fans walking forward he spies two eyes behind peering through. “Do I know you?”, he asks himself as the gap closes their stare. The crowd thins as police pass him by now he watches her near in clear view. “Who are you?”, he asks himself, willing her eyes to reply.

They both break smile and he looks down, watching the pavers countdown their pathway to cross. He sees her feet pass his feet and their towards pass into away. Footsteps later he stops and turns and stands her way — she has stopped and turned, standing his: her head shaved, headphones on, head tilted to one side; socks pulled high, hands in her pockets, black piercings and a backpack. Two strangers stand amongst many, staring at each other, in a moment, on a night.

Breaking smile he turns for home, losing her eyes and leaving her standing. Walking down through the mall and around to the station he wonders, “What night is it?”