It was another hot summer’s day and
I, with the small amount of change in my pocket
was journeying towards to the local park
in efforts to create a more fulfilling afternoon.

On the way to the park I
had to pass Mulberry Lane, with its shoddy Bus Stop.
Graffiti littered the benches and a man
sat, silent, a cigarette hanging in his mouth.

Me being me, looked away, staring downward
and rushing past, holding my breath as I passed through
the fog of smoke, wispy, tinged blue,
curling around my body as I walked away.

After the afternoon had passed and the
sun began to set, once again I walked past the
Mulberry Lane Bus Stop, the man sat,
still smoking, but with the hint of whisky.

When I returned home, my mother asked
“How was your day?”, and me being me, did not
tell her about the man at the
Mulberry Lane Bus Stop, with smoke surrounding him.