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A bus ride and vodka - Prose

This morning I watched a man average in frame, ankles much too thin for his stature and legs much too frail for his build. His hair had formed a dome of baldness that shied away from his neck and ears. Skin a hardened brown he didn't intend. He poured volumes of vodka down all his pipelines, as though waiting for the tank of him to tell him he's ready to go. It was glens or some other cheap brand, the kind that makes you forget, not just things, not just you. Your organs leave you, God leaves you and you nod to yourself and say - '’see I knew it’'.

He didn't stop to breathe. Bottle finished, binned. He got up, weighty frail legs. I smiled, he looked, and I prayed God give him the legs he needs to stand.


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