He is fighting the November chills.

In the quiet night streets, his face glows with the streetlights that throws a detailed view to his wasted features.

The sandy brown hair and his bony face with his brown eyes are the spectacular view of his face.
The dark blue t shirt covered by his black leather jacket, his denim jeans and his black boots are his only hide.
The cigarette is lit, the nicotine filled smoke passes through his lungs to his nose, as he helds it with his skinny fingers and in time to time keeping it between his cracked lips. The smoke dances around him and disappears as it escapes from the limited liability of the streetlights.
His eyes stares at the same spot as he smokes his twelfth, the silhouette of a tree in the darkness of other side of the road.

Even his eyes are on it but his mind is somewhere else.

It’s​ away from this street, away from the smoke surrounded place, away from this city, noise, pollution, everything. 

His mind is with someone as he thinks about that someone’s existence.
As he thinks about that, his mind is distracted by a faint sound of a bell. 
It’s his phone.
He takes it out from his front pocket.
He sighs as a vapour escapes from his mouth, this time it is not nicotine but his own.
He puts it back as it keeps on ringing and after a few minutes it stops. 
Then, he smokes.
He smokes.
He smokes.
He keeps on smoking until the ashes burns in between his fingers.

He looks for another, the packet is empty.
Frowning, he throws the packet after crushing it with his bony fingers, that was his last one.
His phone rings again vibrating his whole weak and wasted body, he ignores it.

He knows it’s the same person, his mom.

The person whom he hated and loved the most, the person who acted to be his mom but was not. The person who tried for him but was never successful. The person who wanted to be a real mother for him but will never be able to take place of the one.

The person whom he despised but never want her to get into trouble or be sick. 

The person who was his stepmother and his mother’s sister.
He rests his back against the cold cemented wall.

The cold is unbearable, the cloud of smoke passes from his mouth.
He eyes his surrounding, the quiet road, the streetlamps, the dark starless sky and him.
He rests his head against the wall, the eyelids wantsto drop, the sleep slowly embracing him along with the cold breeze that wants him to feel the chills.
Wrapping himself with his arms and fighting against the November’s chill, he dozes off to sleep.
The bony and tired face is now replaced with a peace looking face, the frowns and sad lines all gone. He is asleep, though the soft chattering of teeth can be heard.


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