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I am the invisible man that shuffles these desolate streets, people passing by or through me as if I'm a ghost.
My appearance must scare them, my street attire practicality not Halloween, it's never always been this way
Nobody knows my story
Or knows where I've been.

My thin dirt encrusted Mack is waterproof, merely a casing to my inner layers, my thick, oversized, rancid sponge like fleece keeps me warm. If I eat and stand still for too long the pigeons begin to swarm. Threadbare trousers held up by string, moth eaten shoes and holy socks seeping in rain that make my blisters sting.

My rucksack of premium strength cider helps fuel my slovenly carriage, hard to believe once I was in a loving marriage. My only friend is a cardboard guitar, my livelihood and companion as I mimic the stars. As I sing along to my out of tune songs in a drunken whining lilt, I long to replace the cider I've spilt.
The warm hearted donate, whilst others i just irritate. I don't mind, I ask for nothing much, just some change to enhance my state.

Christmas is now here, I plink my cardboard guitar to bring festive cheer. Tinsel drinkers are out in their hordes, Merry Christmas to all! I trample my imaginary boards. Police radio crackles as im moved on for causing a scene......but I don't care, nobody knows my story...or knows where I've been.

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Stu Rose

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