It is downright chilly today. The skies are grey and the world is dripping wet. It has been like this for a couple days now. A stiff breeze is currently bullying the trees behind my house. They rustle a damp rustle in protest. This is my favorite weather. I adore it. It makes me feel awake: alert and relaxed at once.
Last night I went into the city for my walk in search of ghosts and improbabilities. What I found was a plethora of homeless persons sleeping in various metropolitan nooks and crannies. They wrapped themselves in blankets against the damp chill and withdrawal, but that is a temporary solution at best. Sooner or later the chills will get in.
I watched an elderly homeless woman stoop to retrieve a bit of bread from the sidewalk. Perhaps it was pastry. I am not sure; It doesn't matter really. It had become a soggy mess, which maintained its form through sheer force of will. As the woman clutched at it, it collapsed into a doughy puddle of lost determination. It is a hell of a thing to be hungry on a cold, wet night with the shakes just around the bend. A blanket is in order.