It’s cold; a chilly October morning. The concrete is hard. It hurts my bum. I stand up. Shivers over-rule me; my body aches. My heart hurts. This little nook, on some sidewalk has been my home for the last three days. It’s been over eighteen hours since my last morsel of food. I’m thirsty. Probably for water, even though some drunk have me half a bottle of rum and a packet of cigarettes. You would think that it would curb my thirst, but it didn’t. As I walk off,  I light a cigarette; it gives me momentary warmth, which disappears after I see a boy walking with his Mum. The sight turns me sour. If I remember correctly, my Mum cared more about her drugs than me and my brother. Charlie. Oh, my brother Charlie. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. It seemed like the few pieces left of my dying heart were crumbling away. Today, marks the moment the world stood still. Three years ago, little Charlie was shoved. He was a week from turning four. He tumbled. He fell off a balcony into the abyss.

There are snotty nosed kids everywhere I look. This one kid walks into a Nike store. I follow him. He whinged at his Mum to get these shoes; Air Jordan’s. Here I am, body shaking, earthquake inside my stomach, wishing, that maybe, just maybe I might get enough money to afford a two dollar burger from Maccas. Children like this make me sick. They have everything; a nice home, loving parents and they want more. Guess what? I have a dead brother and a crack head Mum. No one can take that away from me, no matter how much I want them to.

My lungs are giving in. My bones are snapping; bleeding with pain every time I walk. My head is so heavy; grief and sorrow overwhelm me. I sink into my oversized jeans. Tears leap from my eyes. Floods of water drench my clothes. All I can see is his face; bright red cheeks, ebony hair, eyes like the sea. I see his laugh and hear the way his eyebrows rise when he’s happy. He was my everything. Then he was nothing, but a painting stored away in the attic of my mind.

Kids burst through the door laughing. That kid. His Jordan’s are hung around his neck. His pride is blinding me. His ego pushing at me. Those shows are worth a couple hundred dollars. Enough money to feed me. To get me going in the right direction. He was just a kid. His family probably had enough money to buy him fifty pairs of Jordan’s. He wouldn’t miss them. Anyway, I need the money, he just wants the shoes.

He spotted me from the corner of his eye. I was standing in the corner, leaning against the boundary fence. His eyes watery, his body shivering. Quickly he boarded the train. Every move I followed. He didn’t see me. He didn’t realise that I was there; I don’t think anyone did.

Drawing back on a cigarette, remembering I had no choice. Most babies got milk; I got cigarettes and bourbon, breathing in drug fumes. The kid turns, he stares at me. I smile with rotten teeth. It is a cold, careless smile. I follow him onto the train. I compliment his boots. He doesn’t answer, so I answer for him by grabbing his hair. He throws a punch, so I kick him. There is struggle, there are fighting moves. I grab one of his boots, he garbs the other. We pull at them, then they snap. Suddenly and almost in slow motion, I fall out of the carriage, striking my head on a stainless steel pole. Charlie reaches out his hand; “It’s okay, I’m here now.”