Yazmin Malcolm

Deluded

The hood of his metal grey jumper shadowed his ruffled mop of hair and glistening green eyes. The brightness of his reflective yellow vest disguised his loitering on the fancy, residential South London street. The luminous safety jacket somehow deterred anyone from paying much attention to him; the rich folk who lived down here probably saw him as ‘just a bin man’, or some low-end serviceman - no need to pay much attention. The splattering of the wet pavement under his black trainers was the only sound that echoed around him and the bite of the cold, funneling air forced him to wade down the darkened street, tackling the elements to reach his goal. To get to her.