The Underside of This Bridge
It’s dark, and the underside of this bridge is like a bad venereal disease, all pustulent rust and rain dripping down the sides. He is cold, and his blanket is the exact same colour as the wall, but there is a curfew and he isn’t taking any risks. The officer will inspect in half an hour’s time; he keeps himself awake by focusing on the pain in his leg. After 28 minutes, he walks out into the rain to stand underneath a tree, waiting for the splash of police boots to fade in and out before daring to go back.