A Cold Night

it was a cold night. a thin layer of fog shrouded the streets like a gossamer veil, bestowing the surroundings with a certain ethereal surreality.

he stared out of the window. his mind darted from one thought to another, never dwellling on one for any length of time. he was searching for something, but he did not know what.

outside, he saw a hooded figure, wrapped under a thick jacket, hurrying across the road. the sodium light of the street lamps was diffused into little round blobs that resembled will-o-wisps frozen in the middle of a whimsical dance.

a train rumbled by. a lanky man in a long jacket was nodding off in it. there was a lady in a technicolour knitted pullover. a port-bellied middle aged man was reading what looked like the day's newspapers.

why were these people out so late? where were they going? home presumably. to a home warmed by the presence of a loving family? or to a flat cluttered but empty? into the arms of a delighted lover? or the embrace of 4 cold walls?

his eyes tracked the train for as far as possible. he thought about the passengers on board. their paths crossed for an instant, in that instant, their fates intersected. he knew that each of the passengers had a story. but he will never know what their stories were, or how their stories would continue, or end. he was but a footnote in their unfolding lives and them in his. was there any reason for that brief encounter? perhaps, perhaps not.

he smiled, knowing that he has discovered another mystery that he will never solve. he felt beauteous Sleep gently beckoning him into her realm of nebulous reverie, bidding him to turn away from his musings and fall into the sweet comfort of rest and respite. he opened his window slightly to let some of the cold air in, turned and crawled into bed.