I could see that he was getting weaker.
His matted fur had started to fall out in thick, dusty clumps
His matted fur had started to fall out in thick, dusty clumps and his eyes weren't quite as bright.
It was getting harder for the both of us.
At the end of each day I would count less and less coins from inside my paper coffee cup
and we would drag our empty bodies and full bags to yet another place of shelter.
The bags under our eyes held more than the ones on our backs.
My friend would follow, dragging himself along too.
It was he who used to bring in the most money.
It was he who used to bring in the most money. 'Pity Pennies' as I would refer to them.
People ignored me,
People ignored me, the delinquent that sat by the road,
but they enjoyed meeting my friend.
However, the weather became relentless along with our nagging doubt
and now my friend was getting tired.
He was not as clean or as full as he once was so he was harder for people to love.
He would always be handsome to me.
My love for him was the only thing that kept me warm at night.
We could no longer afford the scraps from the chip shop,
We could no longer afford the scraps from the chip shop, and so,
We could no longer afford the scraps from the chip shop, and so, my friend was getting tired.
My own hunger was not nearly as important as his.
He relied on me,
He relied on me, he depended on me.
He relied on me, he depended on me, but I was not fulfilling my duty.
I was letting him down day after wretched day
and so, he was getting weaker.
He lay beside me and let out a deep sigh,
and he began to breathe slowly and deeply, with such intention.
We sat in the cold together under the shelter of a bus stop,
and we both dreamed of the same thing.
The solution to all of our problems.
The simple solution that was entirely unreachable.
The one thing that would keep us through another cataclysmic night.
We needed to eat.