One Cold Night
Well, I wasn't sure what the sound was that woke me. It's best described as a young child in distress with a very faint cry. I untucked myself from my sleeping bag and carefully in slow movements lifted my woven cotton toque above my chilled ears. Listening ever so patiently while exhaling in slow rhythmic unlaboured function, it was evident that I probably was hearing things. You see, living on the streets in the cold months the sounds seem to echo in various directions with no particular point of origin. Now mind you, that sound, the distressed sound of cries happens a lot. It could have been a possibility that my sleeping bag was not covering the manhole on the sidewalk, and the escaping vapors of heat that are cherished so dearly made this faint cry. You see being homeless our minds are usually on high alert for any potential threats or sounds while we attempt to sleep. Well, I shouldn't speak for everyone, but this is how I feel. Maybe, just maybe the sewer gas that absorbs into my sleeping bag and the labored breathing in my sleep draw in these toxins. I am not sure but I hear all things are possible from others on the street. Gee, you know come to think of it, I haven't seen a doctor in maybe fifteen years. Maybe more, because honestly, I don't recall what year this is.
