After the tiresome day with the sun weighing me down, its rays tryingto pin me in the eyes through the holes in my cap. My jacket and pant,a gift from the generous bhaisaab who gave me this olive green jacketand pant. The black banyan torn and worn, another treasure find at thedump. To top it all, the skull cap, my prize trophy, won in a fight,totally worth the scar it emblazoned across my left cheek. Its notreally seen though, my beard, rough and scraggy metastasised over theugly crater.

Pulling out the cigarette from my pocket which Istole from the kid at the other street, bloody rascals. Roaming intheir shorts, barely having felt a woman's warmth and acting like biggang lords, with beedies and cigarettes, coughing and gagging. I reachfor the matches in my bag. A big foreign one, I was told, light brownwith LV written all over. Wonder what it means? LV?

Adastardly dog picks at my stick and I hurl abuses and watch it runaway. Shifting to cross leg, I inhale. The smoke fills my mouth, myblood absorbing it while it stays and through the side it blows away,the wind grabbing it and running like a thief.

I sit there, at the end of the lane, preparing myself for the long journey. The city's ends miraged, by the damn sun...