The one you never see (Five minutes freewrite)

The red-haired woman from the bakery seemed to be off, so no free bagels today. Such a pity, as she always gave him two of them fresh ones, not some of those stale chewy leftovers. But, that was not his priority at the moment. First he needed to warm up a bit, as he could barely move his legs. The gleaming red coffee machine just inside the market place beckoned to him. He looked at it longingly, but alas he had no coins left. It'll have to wait.
He shuffled inside the market place, trying not to be in the way of hurried housewives and keep well out of sight of the burly bodyguard who always told him to leave. At least here the glass walls managed to keep the freezing wind out. He walked real slow by the stalls, scanning the floor for some lost coins. People rarely bothered to pick up a dropped nickel, especially if their arms where occupied with heavy bags.

He was beginning to lose hope, if you can call it that, when he caught a glimpse of the old lady who used to live next door to him, God bless her soul! He didn't expect to see her out in this freezing cold, but, of course, it was the Day of the Dead. The dear old woman is happy to see him, as she cannot really go all the way to the cemetery, so she was looking for someone who would enjoy something to eat, a small offering to honor the memory of her dead husband, as is the custom on this day. She digs deep inside her tattered black bag, full of carefully folded plastic bags and old newspapers - you never know when you might buy something that needs wrapping. He'd like to help, but he doesn't dare to touch her bag, not with his grimy fingers. So he waits politely until she finally finds two cheese sandwiches wrapped in a clean white napkin and one small chocolate bar, which she puts in his trembling hands. They've known each other for years, so she can easily read the pleading look on his face. As she slips him a few crumpled bills, she admonishes him, as usual: 'Don't you dare go buy yourself wine'.
They all think he has a drinking problem, although, funnily, they didn't seem to think that when he was a guest at their tables and they had a drink together. Back when he was a normal person, with a decent job, a nice little place and even a wife. That was before he was made redundant and could not find another job. Then his mother died and his wife left him or, maybe it was the other way around, he doesn't really remember. All he remembers are the days spent drinking all by himself, until he had no money left. His brother, the good boy in the family, the one with a nice orderly life, offered to help him out. Some help! All he got was a pitiful sum of money and a kick in the butt.
Maybe he should have left, go back to the village where his folks came from, but he couldn't face leaving the neighborhood where he had spent the best years of his life. Many of the people who used to be his friends now look the other way when they ran into him. He doesn't resent them. He never used to see the homeless when he had a home of his own.
It's going to be a horrible night. Nothing he can do about it. He watches the few passers-by as they hurry home to their warm dinners and warm beds. All that he has to see him through the night is a bottle of cheap wine. It won't keep him warm, but at least it will put him to sleep, he hopes. He dreams of finding a handful of coins, right there in the middle of the street. Nobody sees them, but him. The best thing about that night was that he didn't have to wake up in the morning. Or ever again.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: Homeless! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

Image: Pixabay