It’s cold.

‘Course it’s cold, what’s the point of even commenting on something like that? It’s colder than usual though. And usually I’m not walking around in it. But he took my spot.

So now I’m cold. Cold and scared.

No, I’m not scared. It’s not worth it to be scared. Only thing to be is moving. Keep moving. Just gotta make it to the bridge, then I can rest. It’s dry under there, and no wind.  Not as good as my spot, but better than nothing.

Where’d that guy come from anyway? Never seen him around. He shouldn’t have taken my spot. It was the best spot, especially when it’s this cold. Can’t fight. No sense in fighting a guy like that. No more spot. And I can’t go back to the tents. No more tents either. Just the cold.

Snow’s starting again. Headlights coming fast.  There they go. Almost to the bridge. Lots of folks know the bridge, but maybe some of them are inside tonight. Maybe I’ll be able to stay there. Just for a bit. Then I’ll keep moving.

It’s getting colder. But I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not moving anymore either. When did I stop?

* * *

Photo by Aditya Vyas on Unsplash

Story by Gregory M. Fox