Forgotten

A man with no shoes walks by with a limp. His arms covered in tattoos and scars are lethargic by choice. The biting winter sun delivers respite from late December northerlies. He reeks of Franzia. Redolent, it shadows him, haunts him like what he drinks to forget. His unkempt white beard is stained yellow around the mouth from years of cigarettes and no-shave Novembers. He dons a jacket faded glory that is two sizes too small and his pants stay together like a couple for their kids. Too proud to join the Salvation Army on Christmas Eve, he finds his bench, lies down and survives one more night.