Totally empty with a philosophical hole turn bare open in his chest, waiting for the tram or train or whatever would get him the hell out of this place and away, the dead drunk on his feet wanderer thought in illogical sentences often left blank or with just the bare minimum of information. So far he’d searched for something that would at least make him somewhat warm at night when alone in bed and that thing was love, but it could not be hunted with a shotgun nor could be caught with a butterfly net, it could not be forced or even just brought up casually, while the passive user might be able to find it in a back alley or bathroom encounter, the real stuff was just out there somewhere in the ether and that was disturbing. All day people of all and any description avoided the question when confronted with it, or acted like they were searching for something else, but that was it. Apart from the basic essentials of course, food shelter chocolate occasional thai food, but yes love was the main thing out there. Reading other peoples mushy experiences was bad, watching films about it worse. Spose they may make sense when you had it but without it was like observing an hour or so of somebody drinking a glass of water whilst thirsting in the desert, yes the ell oh vee word is brutal and elusive with a brilliant set of fangs it will find you when you’re closest to the edge or back turned, and that is the only moment that counts.
Searching For Warmth