Blustery weather brought her to mind the most and when the heavy downpour and a crash of thunder jolts him awake, followed by a bolt of lightning that brightens the night-sky and plays havoc with his poor eyes, he is immediately aware of her presence on Earth. He claims to be a descendant of the Sun and the Moon, darkness and light consume him; declares himself a deity, grand and immortal like a Roman God. She is alive and travels with the winds, at times soft and breezy, a soothing gentle caress. As the storm increases in intensity, gusts of cold air twisting and encircling, sharp drops stinging his skin, he trembles in the fetal position of post-slumber. A fierce blast rattles the limbs of the trees that are his shelter, snapping branches, showering leaves, warning of her impending approach. He imagines he can feel the woman’s wrath in its wail.
A vision of the three of them hours before, her hair drenched blond to black, wearing that knee-length waterproof jacket.The one he had given her, lying by saying he’d found it, after stealing it from an open garage near the boiler room where he sometimes slept. With wet jeans and soaked boots, shivering dog in arms she waits and watches under the protection of the subway bridge, while he stands panhandling at the busy intersection in sandals, tank top, and shorts loosely tied with a rope rather than a belt. His skin glistens in the streetlights, the rain cascading over toned and tattooed shoulders. Yorkdale Shopping Centre is closing and traffic is heavy with the affluent, dressed in designer clothing driving expensive cars, horns blasting, tires screeching, windshield wipers working overtime. They are busy people and there are those who disdain him and his kind, but he is popular with the regulars and pockets plenty of spare change.
Who is that homeless girl? 