His breath pungent with alcohol, his face drained and resembling someone’s — that someone whom I see before my mind’s eye is long gone. This man’s face is abound with already dried up blood. Frightened, I can’t help but walk away as he mumbles out to me and I throw back a “The bus will come in a few minutes” to him. Leaving him behind, all I can think of and hope is that he has somewhere and someone to go home to. On Christmas Eve. The evening which should’ve, for both of us, been one of the most wonderful times of the year.