Wet world

I'm early. The world around me is wrapped in scarves and jackets, except for the guy in the denim shorts, no shirt, flip flops and a cap walking down below.

It's raining. As I'm early, I chose to stay on the undercover Metro bridge, watching the raindrops run along the concrete beam and eventually peel themselves off. The flickering fluorescent light turns the world around me into a kind of unearthly early-morning disco.

Somehow, the glistening wet of the side-walk makes the litter stand out starkly. Litter blocks the drains, so the water dams up in the road, turning the paving into a bug-sized, filthy surf.

Pigeons are amazing things. Where do they come from? One lone white pigeon bobs around, finds a soggy crumb and in a split second, twenty others arrive to help decimate the 'feast'.

My hands are cold, but then, my hands are pretty much always cold. They're saying that, a little way south of us, the sentient temperature this morning is -22ºC. I find that hard to believe. Not complaining here though. At least we're finally having a smattering of winter.

Augh. Poor guy. This old man is always there on the curb-side. His lopsided stool stands abandoned off to one side, as he hops around, trying to keep warm. He has a blue shopping trolley holding a polystyrene cooler of orange junk-juice and bottled water. I doubt he'll make too many sales today, if any. Even the coffee-and-cake guy is lacking his usual cluster of clients in the cold and rain.

Ah... time's up. I need to go down and wait for the bright yellow VW.