PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma
Fi pulls her coat tighter. The fake fur is stiff with dirt and spilled food, but it’s all she has. The temperature hasn’t risen above freezing for days. In the gutter the same chip trays cup the same stiff grey puddles of ice.
Neon stings her eyes as the milky sunlight fades, music from the bars and pubs clashing, a bright torrent of sound.
Back home, the TV will be on for the chimes, the New Year carried in on the sound of bagpipes and crying.
A car pulls up at the kerb as the clocks strike twelve.