NEW WRITING:

Like a flattened beer can, he sings your praises from the middle of the empty street. His thin grey coat hangs off one bony shoulder, hangs onto the other. He stutters on dead feet, just about keeping his balance, just about saving himself from a full on kiss with the street. He pushes himself towards you, singing your praises. His glassy, red-tinged eyes lock onto yours - you can't get away now, no excuses now. So you let him enter your space, with all his fluttering lips and booze breath. He sends out his lank arms, tries to embrace you, but you step back, disgusted. Despite everything, despite his style, his gracelessness - he is crestfallen. You back up against the wall, as far away from him as you dare, but he doesn't move, doesn't shuffle those dead feet of his any closer. He's spent, his gift was rejected, and now it's gone. A tear forms in one eye and begins to drift across his flattened cheek. You close your own eyes tight, as you feel and hear him drift slowly to the gutter in front of you - a human puddle of piss and puke and angel. A tear forms in your own eye, but you don't let it travel.