The carpet was threadbare and the walls were painted egg-shell blue. Everything within that contained space had seen better days, sections of the plaster were fast crumbling amongst the ruins.
The curtains stank of stale cigarette smoke, creaking floorboards added to the eeriness and dankness of the dimly lit interior.
It was hardly cheerful, but in a strange sense, he knew it was, home, the only home he had., and although he was dreading the festive season, it provided some meagre comfort, knowing that there was a temporary roof over his head, no matter if it was only for a little while.
He sat, bottle in hand, looking at the torn scrap of paper before him, his last contact with family and friends, now long gone, faded into oblivion, most had passed away, others had just quite simply forgotten or distanced themselves not wanting to be part of his life, shame perhaps, he like everyone else, had been someone, had a name, an identity, now it was too late to return back to his formal self, way to dangerous.
He contemplated what his life might be like, in the next few years, it didn’t exactly give much promise or hope. On the run, consistently, never being able to settle down or work anywhere for fear of exposure or perhaps the pointing, accusatory fingers wagging, the stares, the judgement begins.
Christmas Cheer, hardly likely………..