City Sleeper

He looked at me with his big brown eyes, and the white was stained yellow and bloodshot like a open wound. The man sat like a statue staring into the stale air of the night, but his eyes didn't speak. Most people have a voice in their eyes, a voice that speaks for their heart; but he was blank. There was a brick wall between his heart and the world, or maybe the world ate his heart; devoured by the harshness of the city streets.
A snowflake fell on the tip of his nose, he looked at the sky begging for mercy. He sunk back into himself, cradling his frail body into fetal position to save the warmth. He barely wore clothes, a tattered green woolen jumper, and his jeans were grey with stains and ripped to shreds. His beanie hugged his head, and his dirty thin hair hung out the sides framing his thin face marked with scabs and age.
He raised his head slowly, and gazed at me; he wasn't aware of my presence; he was used to sharing his home with the public. He stretched his arm out, motioning his unwashed hands to his run-down cardboard sign 'Homeless. Help. Need money for food.' As our eyes met, I turned to go home.

- 2009