And he walked along the path taking in the smell of winter it choked him with its cold and brought him pain in the chest but he did not stop for he had somewhere to go. His walk had gone on and on and he had seen many faces, walked past many faces and many frowns, many frowns and few smiles. There are few smiles in the cold.
The sound of the horn startled him and he looked at where it came from, the metallic steed lacking in the resplendence it would usually offer in the hazy streetlight. He looked and he stared and he saw nothing looking back or even staring back and he did not know what to think, what to do.
What are you doing?
I don’t know, he said.
Get out of the way.
I did not know I was in the way.
The voice raised. That’s why I beeped, it said.
He moved and he walked and he walked more and he felt the lace of his shoe rubbing against his foot and his thoughts turned to the sock, the sock he should have replaced and he started to talk to himself aloud.
I should have thicker socks, it’s cold. Why don’t I have thicker socks?
The second horn startled him more than the first but this time he saw the voice and the face that came with it, and he saw the vehicle he had blocked off with his body and he saw the anger that was coming from both.
The face spewed at him. Get’a fuck out’a way, it said.
I wasn’t looking.
Well’a should’a look.
I’ll look next time.
Y’should’a look this time.
He smiled at the face. Sorry, he said.
The walking carried on but now it was faster and had more urgency for he had felt another cold, a familiar cold that told him he was almost out from under the canopy that had surrounded him for so long. He stepped out from under it and the blast of cold air near took him from his feet and he breathed deep and he smiled and for that moment he forgot about the lace rubbing his foot and he forgot about the horns and the anger and the invisible voices and he remembered why he had taken the journey.
His smile carried on. I’m home, he said. I’m home and I must read up on the Green Cross Code because I think I’ve forgotten how to cross roads. Also I’m going to try and write my blog in the style of Cormac McCarthy tonight.
The smile didn’t fade even in the dark and neither did the cold, but there were no more horns in the darkness and no more anger was thrown at him.