The man was too busy in his own misfortune, gracelessly stumbling his way through the mid-intersection of the park. Originally the man entered Middle Park in pursuit of someone, as he went deeper into the park, and deeper into a bottle, he soon forgot the reasons why, and instead staggered slowly with little direction.

He lost track of time until arriving at a statue of a General on horseback. It bore a clock on the front of it. He shrugged for the late hour, and plonked himself at the base of the statue.

He eyed his drenched clothes. He'd started the day in his favourite, and most expensive black suit, neatly ironed and fresh from the cleaners. Now it hung low, the stitching tearing more each step he moved. It would never be the same again. Only one week ago he would have cared about this suit.

"Rain!" he yelled. "Miserable rain ... ripping my suit! Ripping my life!"

He knocked back for another slug, shocked to find the bottle empty. He held it to the rain as if waiting for a godly refill.

"Rum!" he yelled. "More rum!"

When his prayers died after his echo, he arose in a stupor, falling forward in effort to stabilise himself. His footing slid to and fro until he came to a wobbly steadiness.

"Where are you God!? Create a disgusting little mess like me then bugger off when I ask y'help. Moron can't even fill a lousy bottle with lousy rum. What kind of fucking God is this? Sure you've no trouble ruining lives, but fixing them ... that's a whole other story."

Against the rain, the man stared up to the cloudy night sky.

"Give us something! Let's see those miracles! If you won't catch me when I'm goin' down, let's see if you can catch this!"

With one great swing he thrust the bottle skyward, and in his stupor aimed the wrong direction. He threw the bottle into the foliage of a tree. Beneath the leaves, it shattered so suddenly and chimed as to have struck solid metal.

The whole tree began to shudder in response. A creaking sound followed like something leaning onto a branch, then the tree shook a second time as if a heavy object fell to the next branch down. It continued like this, a concealed object rustling and snapping branches, falling bit by bit from branch to branch.

The man did little but stare in dumbfounded curiosity.

"God?" he mumbled.

The weight pressed a branch till breaking point. It gave way with one solid snap. The object revealed itself from the leaves, rolling out backward. It took him a moment to realise what it was, or maybe to fathom what it was. It was the rear bonnet of a pink car hanging onto a branch by its front wheels.

In that second of realisation, the man dived away as the car came crashing to the ground behind him. The leap sent him thumbing down a shallow hill, through thorny border bushes designed to keep day-farers out. He stumbled with face to the dirt and arse in the air until sliding to a steady halt at the base of the hill. Grovelling in mud and wet grass, he sat up on knees, panting till the shock left.

"Not what I had in mind. Elaborate though."

His words went eclipsed by the noise of wreckage rocking back and forth at the top of the hill. He hardly beckoned the reason of it all when a new noise overshadowed the old. Low pitched like something of a whimper, a brief one existing no longer than the time it took to notice. It came from a bundle of wet rags sat at the base of a Great Oak. Of course there was a person under there, a bum no doubt.

He shied a glance and intended to carry back up the hill from which he fell. When he found the climb too thorny and awkward, he shrugged inwardly and turned to the bum for directions out.

Only when he stepped closer to address did a second whimper peep out from the rags. It was of a lighter tone than he realised first, and those rags looked too small for an adult. He saw tiny hands and tiny legs, a tiny head lowered in tears.

"You're just a kid," he said, expecting the girl to react. She didn't seem to hear under her oversized green ear flap hat.

She would have stayed down there crying had a cold hand not touched hers. She fell away in shock, back pressed against the Oak tree. In her hurry the hat fell off, revealing a length of blonde hair that seemed to shimmer in this darkness.

In a plea for solidarity, the man formed a less aggressive stance and backed away some. "Hey now, come on, I won't hurt you. Are you alone out here, where are your parents?"

"My parents?" she replied still shaken.

"I see ... No matter how locked, I'm not one to leave a kid here like this. How long you been out on the streets?"

She didn't move, only frowned like all she wanted was to keep crying.

"You're too young for this. Whatever happened to you must have happened recently. This isn't your first night on the street is it? I suppose ... this would be mine too. Can I know your name?"

The girl seemed to eye his pricey black suit as if to question his honestly. The more she stared the more worn down it appeared, and the more it looked like he'd been wearing it quite a while.

The man leaned down and picked up her hat, placing it back on her head. "Shy thing ain't ya."

What childish tenacity she tried to maintain shattered for an instantaneous bout of tears, starting then stopping. Following the brief on-pour her face hardened and stayed that way.

He placed his hand on her shoulder to provide comfort. "Hey, come on now blondie, things'll be alright."

For that instant he stared at her and she stared back at him. In the next instant he stared at her tiny foot booting toward his face, and heard the words: "Get away from you old freak!"

The kick didn't hurt. If he hadn't seen it coming he probably wouldn't have noticed. In any case she stood above him, fist raise as if she'd sent all the forces in the universe pummelling into his face. He let her believe it too.

The man held his nose, falling backward. "Oh my nose!" he cried, rolling about in dire pain. "It hurts so much!"

The girl frowned curiously. She'd like to believe she'd successfully toppled an adult, but this man was a poor actor. His tone was largely sarcastic, even a little mocking. John often attempted the same fits of pain during their many play fights.

The girl smiled, and even released a little titter. It caused the man to stop rolling in the mud and smile up in kind. The girl laughed more freely, this time at his muddy state and stupid grin.

The man looked himself over, making attempts to wipe the mud away. "You're right. It is muddy out here. Going to be tough getting a good night sleep on this, but I have an idea."

The girl continued to watch curiously as he crawled about in the mud, picking up sticks, logs and even fallen leaves. He brought them under the Oak and laid them down.

"We'll build a house right here, just you and me, blondie. Sure it'll start as a small dank shack, but this dank shack'll be the greatest dank shack! You with me?"

She ran away to the bushes. For a moment, as he sat muddied amidst quiet rain, he felt very much abandoned.

In another moment she repapered under-duress from a hefty bundle of sticks. She smiled and he smiled.

A strong chilly wind flushed by, seemingly carrying the metropolitan sounds they had tried shut out. Rum finished his burger, tossing the wrappings to the ground. He didn't get up, only sat as if waiting for Sierra to say something. Rum wouldn't move yet, and neither would Sierra. Standing now would only disrupt their moment.

"How much did we sell my old black suit for again?" Rum asked.

"About fifty bucks."

"It was worth a grand. I think you owe me another lunch."

"It was a good sale price for the state of the thing. To be honest I just wanted to get rid of it anyway. Made you look sort of pathetic."

"Suppose it was a little worn.

"In shambles."

"Okay, okay. But I would have liked to keep it ... for safe keeping."

"We'll buy you a new one when you start job hunting."

"Knock it off."

Sierra giggled slightly, Rum did too in his crotchety own way. If not for a sudden passer-by emerging from the fog they'd have continued laughing, but they silenced to preserve the moment for themselves.

The passer-by, head shielded under thick winter hood, nodded partly in greeting. Sierra and Rum nodded back, then he disappeared as he had emerged.

A bum would rarely be fit for such a greeting. Normally Sierra and Rum wouldn't be either. It was however a peculiar thing, as they sat there on sidewalk bench, coated in winter fog and drifting snow, they would have seen to any passer bye, a father and daughter sharing a moment.

Rum poked his hand through his pocket, taking out a stubbed cigarette. Lighting it with a spare match he fell back lazily into the bench. He took a drag, and released.

"This is good, isn't it?"

"You smoke now too?"

Chapter 18.

Alex went to call an ambulance from the nearest phone. He'd been gone a while and by then the old haphazard bum began stirring from his daze. Left waiting for Alex to return, Henry stirred awkwardly over the old man in hesitant expectation. He couldn't handle this on his own. He would need Alex to do the talking when the man eventually came to. Most importantly, he needed Alex should this creature prove not so thankful and a little more hostile. He would have reason for it, in a sense.

Since Alex and Henry had pulled him from the ditch to the lane pathway, the snow began building around him as to set an outline like a lazy snow angel. Henry would have washed it all away but feared waking the man while his hand lay in the wrong place. Sure it was just some tired old drunken bum without worth to his name, but so was Rum.

Henry's time to prepare ended when a few breathless words uttered from somewhere beneath that matted beard.

"I ... can't feel my back."

"You're on the ground," Henry replied.

The old man shifted, lifting his arms and with it the snow covering them. He stared through to the whitened scene around, wondering what took place between now and his last memory.

"Seems a while since my drink ran dry," he said, voice hinting of a slurred Irish accent.

"Are you okay?" Henry asked.

"Strange fellow you are, like you know. I've me arse planted dead in snow and you ask if I'm alright?"

"Sorry ... My friend is calling an ambulance, they'll be here soon."

"No apologies. You did stop to help me. I saw five people looking at me and none said nothing of me. Every time another passed I went a little deeper in, like, you know."

"Shouldn't be too long now."

"Sorry son, could you lean down a little? Me eyes are near shot on a sober day. I'd like to get a good look at you, the one person who stopped."

Henry did so with an awkward smirk, not at all hesitant in his retreat away from that pungent breath.

"I see," the old man continued. "So it's yourself again."

"Again? Can't imagine we've met."

Only on the end of his words did it click. Henry had seen this haggard old face before. He recognised the grey trench-coat he wore, those bobbling eyes, the accent, and those aged burn marks near hidden under that matted beard. This man was the wino they ran into on the train over here, the one who in his own disconcerting enthusiasm drove them to flee into another carriage.

Henry let his shoulder's drop. "Yeah ... it's me again. You know, you've got a good memory, must come in handy."

"Back in my youth it did. Back when I was a no-good smarmy swindler. It had its uses, believe me it did. These days it's more of a pain, remembering faces of people who don't want to know you. Now I just ride around on public transport, hassling the faces I remember and pulling in some new ones. Faces ... Used to be good at reading them too ... until I read this one guy wrong. Let's just say I nearly died and leave it at that." He sighed. "Have you got a smoke, son?"

"I think you need a break from stuff like that."

"Stuff like that's all I got left. They say it's all bad these days, only selfish people smoke and drink. But I've no one left to call me selfish for doing it, so I suppose selfish is all I can be anymore. I suppose ... someone like you could never understand."

"Someone like me?"

The old fella grinned. "This is just one moment in my long life, understand? You might have stopped to help me but when that ambulance gets here you'll go back to wherever you were going. You're listening to me now because you feel sorry for me, but really what's happening here ... it's no different than when I caused you trouble on the train ill or not I'm still spilling stories from the past. This time I'm on my back, that's the only difference. You'll never really know what it's like to live like this, living in the gutter."

"Not exactly."

"You ... you homeless too? Wouldn't strike me as one. I've never seen a homeless man wearing glasses. And you look too well dressed."

Henry eyed his own shabby clothes, his torn tracksuit bottoms and stained hoody top fished from a hospital laundry bin. He passed the compliment off as a relative observation.

"You're too young, lad, so let me tell you this ... get out while you can, or it'll suck you down. Get out before concrete starts feeling good on the ol' back."

"It'll never come to that. I've no intention of staying on the streets forever. I can get a job any time I want."

The old man laughed mournfully to himself. "How long will you want to? One day it's easy to say these things, the next you're too drunk to think about it. Next thing you know you're riding on trains just to fill the time, and you talk to random passengers until they get annoyed and leave." The man closed his eyes as if to see back into a corner of his past. "Now look at me. Stop talking lad, stop saying 'I will', first thing you need do is act, act and get out while you're young." His eyes didn't open, and his head laxed, falling to the side.

"H-hey, are you okay?" Henry asked, checking for life. He sighed relief when he found his pulse still beating.

Alex returned shortly after to find the old man in much the same condition as when he left. The paramedics would be coming soon, he assured Henry. So they waited.

In time red and blue flashing light flickered into the laneway. The paramedics set the old man on a gurney, placed him into an ambulance then drove away.

Alex and Henry watched those flashing lights flicker into distance. Commotion over, they began making way back to the station.

"Poor bastard, he'd be better off in the ditch."

Henry eyed Alex curiously.

"You see the sign on the ambulance? They're taking him to the same hospital we were at. He'll be tossed into the nearest room and forgotten until they need the bed again. I'd rather stay sick on the street than stuck in that place."

"They weren't all bad. I guess I might have been lucky to have a nice doctor."

"Nice? Smiles won't go very far when they're all out of insulin."