The Homeless Man he squrims from the cold. His skin is grey and He's getting old, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and remembers the good times, the times gone by, then he lifts Himself up onto his feet and looks at the city and survey's the street. Its been his home for 15 years He forgot how to shed tears and shows no fear, he sits on the pathway begging for change and a stretch limo draws up near him, he knows it's out of his range.

As the clouds whisp into a cold Gargoyle grey, he knows there's a storm heading his way, so he shuffles off to an old part of town which is like his dignity, falling down. He searches through his duffle bag which contains the remains of his life and pulls out a fading photo of his kids and wife and his bottom lip quivers as he stares at the snap then he lies down to sleep in his debris and rat's crap.

As the storm rages outside he lies under his cardboard bed he's slowly falling into restless sleep , he can see ghost's in his head. He sees the ghosts from his past, the images which will always last. He tries in vain to win his psychological fight he uses up his life force and all his might, but the spirits are too strong for this old man who eats people's discarded food from rusty old cans.

Finally he awakes from his nightmare again, its the same routine as he shelters from the rain, he rises, stretches spits and farts the goes into the corner of his hovel and sculpts a piece of art. Then he ascends on to the same street day after day, squats on the same piece of the path and gets moved on his way, when he collects enough money off to the wine shop he goes his old leather boots exposing his dirty toes.

And when he's drunk he accost's people who pass by his way, he shouts
'IS THIS THE NEW MILLENIUM'
'IS THIS THE NEW DAY'

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