The man could smell the dirty stink, but he was used to it. It’s something he carried around. He could see the look of disgust around him. The girl twisted her her face and whispered in her girlfriend’s ear, both of them sniggered, staring at him. A mother pulled her child closer to her, clearing his path. He did not care about them. He stopped caring a long time ago.
His dark green jacket was torn and old. Cotton and fibre spilled out from some holes. His pant was tattered and kept together by patches. His black hair had turned wiry, knotted and brown with all the dirt. He put his hand in his pocket. The layer of cloth was barely holding together. He felt the notes between his fingers and felt reassured.He worked hard to get those notes. His blue jeans looked white, and at some points it was held together by just strings.
The shop was not far away. He could see the Saturday crowd standing around it. Mostly youngster trying to get sloshed tonight. He pushed his way through the crowd and as people noticed it was him pushing, they on their own, took a few steps back, trying to avoid him, trying not to even make physical contact with him.
He reached up to the counter. He removed the notes from his pocket. They were crumpled and rolled into a ball. Using his rough fingers, he stretched them from the ends and tried to flatten out the notes on the palm of his left hand. The lady at the counter glanced at him. She gave him an ugly look. “Bottle of rum, 80ml”, came his rough voice through his unruly beard. She took his notes, careful to avoid his fingers.
A few minutes later she shoved a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
It felt good to have the bottle in his hand. He felt the hard glass and the liquid shaking in it.
He pushed himself through the crowd and came outside the shop. His fingers pulled down the paper, twisted open the cap and then took a sip greedily.
80ml was less, but for today he could forget his sorrows, he could forget his loved ones, he would forget the world. He took another sip greedily. Warmth spread through his body, and light-headedness spread through his mind.
His dark green jacket was torn and old. Cotton and fibre spilled out from some holes. His pant was tattered and kept together by patches. His black hair had turned wiry, knotted and brown with all the dirt. He put his hand in his pocket. The layer of cloth was barely holding together. He felt the notes between his fingers and felt reassured.He worked hard to get those notes. His blue jeans looked white, and at some points it was held together by just strings.
The shop was not far away. He could see the Saturday crowd standing around it. Mostly youngster trying to get sloshed tonight. He pushed his way through the crowd and as people noticed it was him pushing, they on their own, took a few steps back, trying to avoid him, trying not to even make physical contact with him.
He reached up to the counter. He removed the notes from his pocket. They were crumpled and rolled into a ball. Using his rough fingers, he stretched them from the ends and tried to flatten out the notes on the palm of his left hand. The lady at the counter glanced at him. She gave him an ugly look. “Bottle of rum, 80ml”, came his rough voice through his unruly beard. She took his notes, careful to avoid his fingers.
A few minutes later she shoved a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
It felt good to have the bottle in his hand. He felt the hard glass and the liquid shaking in it.
He pushed himself through the crowd and came outside the shop. His fingers pulled down the paper, twisted open the cap and then took a sip greedily.
80ml was less, but for today he could forget his sorrows, he could forget his loved ones, he would forget the world. He took another sip greedily. Warmth spread through his body, and light-headedness spread through his mind.
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