Aftershave, the scent of rotten oranges doused in day old beer greets us at the corner. Propped on his cardboard sofa, doubling as a bed, his scarred and tattered boots grind into asphalt for grip. He rises from beneath the shade of his black straw hat.
Haven't seen you in a while.
His arm snakes a firm grip, pressing aroma into my pores, the texture of sweet syrup and sand. A gap tooth smile whistles in delight, his presence acknowledged among the sea of people flowing passed on sidewalks, begging away eye contact.
Hey Cowboy! How's life?
Stories of streets, his nation, flow over lips starved for attention. Colorful between the Crack. Silly prostitutes, leaving kids "at home" alone, waiting for the party to be over. Of time spent pondering life all but forgotten. A few brief moments shared between eternities of the loud silent city.
Bought a spare burger, you want it?
Patiently tucked away, not to offend his guests by eating alone. Inhaling fresh urban air infused with exhaust, we admire gulls off the bay, swooping between buildings. Time short, we part...
See you soon.
Take care Cowboy.
A man in a suit, talking with the man without.