Car horns slice through the air,
congestion gathers on the roads
making murky smoky trails
There sits a man
whom bears heavy weight;
shrouded, in dark clothing and mystery
Bearded, diligent and wise
Alan is his name
A Scouser if I'd ever seen one,
always happy and yet never alarmed
by the noises and pollution around him
This, is his home
I see him everyday when I pass,
come rain or shine, hail or wind
He sits, diligently and acute
with a paper cup in hand
Living in the open city
He shows that life can be unpredictable,
yet freedom cannot be contained
We've chatted, him and I
He says the institutions can't keep him down
They're out for money and control
This is his freedom, his way of life
to do what whatever he pleases
Tent ready, trolly in possession
Without fear, without order
without rules
Not knowing what the next day may bring
Alan, A Scouse drifter lives by his rules in the City of Belfast
