He opens his eyes to the light of a new day. Looks above his head, already there is a fire brewing. Gathers his bread and butter to set into the city.
The rising sun tells a new tale. The birds in the sky are singing a new song. Yesterday's news is today's stale bread.
He breaks into the winter breez yet again. Heads to Maitland street for his only meal. When the tower cries, he wil depart again.
He knows the streets as well as its produce. There is not a fly that goes by without his knowledge. It's as though the town is his narration.
Ask him how the baby got into the rubbish bin. Ask him how 'the lady of the night' lost her head. Ask him how the man in the black car drove into a tree.
His mansion is barren yet again. The birds prepare to end the day. This is his que to set his tent all over again.
He lays himself next to the brewing fire. Looks to the sky in prayer and cuddles his belongings like a child does his toy.
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