Bread crumbs

Thick black soot spewed from the rusty exhaust pipe of an old bus as it went past, engine grumbling strenuously. I coughed on the fumes, my lungs straining to expel the poison, a woman looked up from her phone in disgust. I looked around at all the people walking about, a teenager wearing a fast food uniform having a heated debate over the phone, a man with a briefcase and black leather shoes that clicked every time they hit the cold pavement. I used to be like them, busy, constantly moving back and forth, home and work, but now I have neither. The perfect irony, all the free time in the world, and nothing to do. Hungry, I asked a middle-aged man for some change. "Sorry man, 'don't have any." He replied with a thick American accent, before promptly walking off, pockets jingling. I looked around for anything of value, a half dozen empty cans, some cigarette butts, a coffee cup and some broken glass. Defeated, I pulled up my sleeping bag and drifted into a light slumber.

Beep! The blaring sound of a horn startled me back to consciousness. A gust of icy air blew through the gaping hole in my filthy ragged sleeping bag. The cold sent shivers down my arthritic spine, through my knotted muscles and across my bruised skin. A glimmer of sunlight begged my attention from a puddle in the gutter. In that muddy water, a damaged, unwanted face looked back at me, a face littered with bristly grey hairs, and leathery wrinkles. Blood and soot and grime coated skin like barbaric makeup. Four chipped yellow teeth clung to rotten gums under cracked lips. A black leather boot shattered my reflection, splashing freezing water all over my sleeping bag. A defeated sigh escaped my toothless mouth as the man attached to the boot kept walking, without so much as a sideways glance.

I awoke the next morning to the comforting smell of bread cooking in a family owned bakery down the road. Sometimes the couple who owned it would leave some stale bread out the back for me. In a feat of determination, I extracted myself from my dishevelled bedding and rose to my feet for the first time in two days. As I began the long hobble down the road, the sharp aromas and mechanical hisses and whines of baristas brewing fresh coffee cut through the morning haze. Sure enough, when I arrived at the back of the bakery, four loaves of stale bread sat on a stack of milk crates next to the door. I looked down into a small, relatively clean bin bag. In it lay everything I could call my own: a jumper riddled with holes, a grey woollen beanie, a plastic bottle with a few mouthfuls of water, a broken watch and now four loaves of stale bread.

The park has always been my favourite place to visit. There was regularly a counsel worker wondering about picking up trash who would tell me to leave after a while, so I couldn't sleep there, but I visited often. The water sat perfectly still. I could have believed it were frozen if not for the ducks that meandered about mindlessly, waiting for a merciful pedestrian to toss them some bread crusts. The dismal overcast grey of the sky repeated itself immaculately in the smooth static surface. My knees creaked like wooden floor boards as I lowered my trite body into a park bench. I tossed a handful of stale bread crumbs to the ducks, aliment that could sustain me for weeks, I didn't care. A mother walked past, pushing a pram and followed closely by a chubby wide-eyed toddler, "Mummy, why is that man so dirty?" the child asked, tugging on her mum's dress. The mother scolded her child for being rude, then gave me an apologetic glance, I smiled in sympathy. A plane flew across the surface of the water. It violently stretched and shrunk as it crossed a ripple, then returned to its normal dimensions before vanishing as it hit the bank. I wondered what it would be like to fly inside a plane, I would never know. An ugly grey duck waddled up to the bench I was sitting on, leaving muddy prints on the foot path. "Quack!" It snapped rudely, then cocked its head, beady eyes fixed on my empty hands, demanding more food, when I failed to produce a comestible offering, it proceeded to stick its scruffy neck into my bag of possessions, looking for the source of my delicious crumbs. I shooed it away with a sweep of my foot. "I need some of that too." I muttered. Then, unable to bear the guilt, I reached into my bag and retrieved the eroded lump that was left of my first loaf. "Hey ah..." I started, unsure. "look I'm sorry ok. I didn't mean it like that." I atoned for my greed. "Hey come back, I'll give you some bread." I tore off a small fist full of stale crust, then, grimacing, I carefully placed the hole loaf on the ground, ensuring it was behind the park bench so none of the other ducks could see. For just a second, I forgot I was homeless, I felt nothing but gratitude for that perfect moment. By the time I was ready to leave, the clouds had cleared just enough to reveal a magnificent sunset that cast a surreal warm glow on the lifeless grey streets, my home.