christmas eve on river street
Tony has been camped in an empty doorway just by Woolworths for two months, Tim has disappeared, Simon long gone, Denise with her suppurations and gross ill-humour is also no longer to be dealt with – the street has changed – though now we have the Pharoah; a lucid, tall, dignified man without any means of support and who smiles and kindly engages with anyone who stops by his stoop by the supermarket wall – his belongings tidily arranged, his education apparent, his situation desperate.
Then there were the two lads reeling this way and that, boys from Cabbage Tree Island over the river, boys almost men, dark-skinned men a-reeling and a-rocking – Pissed.
Drunk
Abusive.
Angry.
The little bloke fronted over and peered up aggressively at the old man who stopped to observe this tragic tableau as the little man’s bigger offsider stood by waiting for some sort of physical development, ready for it. Knuckles dusted. Nose be broken.
They stood a yard apart, the old man and the drunken Koori roisterer. Eye to eye.
‘Fucken right mate?’ the little man challenged.
The old lad stood firm, looked into the unwavering brown eyes of the youth who would smack him down under any pretence …
and who said ..
‘Is the air you’re breathing any different to the air I’m breathing?’
Then ..
‘ Is the air we’re both breathing mean we are brothers?’
A smile from the little man, a nod from his offsider and both of them walked away.
Done, for now.
A lamb saved, maybe.
petebowes.com 
glad your still here i look forward to the stories.Merry Christmas
and to you joe .. it’s been a lot of years.