Auburn

I'm walking up the road from the Prom bar where I've been sitting, greasy-haired and half properly dressed, half pijama clad, biding time, escaping the banality of unemployment. I would have ventured in the opposite direction to my friend's house, but the loneliness I feel tonight doesn't call for feeling lonely with someone else. So I'm walking up the Gloucester Road, instead of down it.
As I go past the white-fly-postered HSBC cashpoint, a gruff voice calls to me,
"Auburn."
I look in its direction.There's a man sitting on the pavement behind a fortress of boxes, the back ends of which all face towards me. He's wearing a long grey coat and has drug-shined eyes that sparkle in the streetlight.
"What did you say?" I ask.
He looks blank.
"Auburn? As in auburn hair?" I run my fingers through my side-spilling ponytail, which I suppose is sort of auburn.
He looks blank still.
"I want to go home," he says. And again, "I want to go home."
"You want to go home?"
He looks blank.
"We all want to go home," I say dumbly.
"Are you cold?" he asks.
I think for a minute. Metaphorically yes, but no, I'm not cold.
"No," I reply, "are you?"
"Not yet, I might be later on."
"Is this your home?" I ask.
He nods or shrugs, I think, and says, "Where do you live?"
"Just around the corner," I point.
He nods.
"Well, tomorrow's another day," I say. And I think he mutters "thank you" a couple of times - unless it's my mind trying to give me peace.
He watches through his mirror eyes as I walk up the alleyway.
The loneliness doesn't fade for either of us, but at least it isn't cold.

1.45am 19/11/09