Walking out and leaving the warmth behind, he stopped and watched the street across from one sign post to the other. Everyone was going about their day in that fast paced city fashion, weaving in and out of one another. Nobody he recognises. Not that there would be anyone he would recognise. More that it’s a habit of his, to look through a sea of people for a face he knows. He couldn’t stop his eyes from searching for soft and familiar features. That’s what happens when you glance upon faces. You look at people who are strangers to see if they aren’t strangers. He kicked the ground with the side of his boot, scuffing the already faded leather. Leaving someone behind, lighting a cigarette perched in that clumsy mouth and feeling co-dependent. He would find home in new eyes that reminded him of hazy mornings.

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