“Some don’t want your help anyway, my friend” systematically marching together, he stole a glance across, peering expecting some reaction. Charcoal black boots could be heard across the street, walking together they matched a beat, sensing friction, “but at least you tried” he thought he sounded weak. No reply admit defeat? Pursing lips end of street. Left and right straight on no traffic, coming up a local addict, “Yo, you good?” Same reply, two sets of feet carry on in time. “You know him well”? one asked of the other, “didn’t he used to chill with your brother”? Charcoal black boots continued walking, two men but only one talking. A frown now clearly showing the wind picked up harshly blowing. Pulling his hood tight around his head, he glanced over and said, “are you in a mood cos don’t take it out on me, its not my fault your boy cant see”

The wind began to pull at his hood the strings to tie it were no good, getting annoyed he pulled the cord tightly, the hood covered his face completely. This evoked a laugh of scorn, this kind of thing was actually the norm, two old friends, trying to keep warm. The weather was doing them no favours at all, to be expected the middle of fall. Leaves crunched and folded beneath their boots, green and yellow, brown and gold, coats wrapped tight to fight the cold. “Oh, me having problems with my hood is the sort of thing that makes you feel good” words sprayed out almost loudly, “move over there you’re starting to crowd me” he pushed gently and looked straight across at a classic old Bentley. “Boy, that is nice, I would have one of them” he stated to his friend. The door to the pub was open and inside looked inviting, “Well, since you have not shut up once, you get the round in”



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