Funeral

One day like any other, a man’s day, somewhere on the outskirts of the city, in a run-down room. In the throes of getting up, his quivering, searching hands amongst the empty bottles. A face grins back in the mirror, escaping. A shabby coat over the pyjamas. Burning spirits in the throat…. And there is another man on the tram. He strikes out for him. getting there late.