My hood was useless the wind decided I looked better without so kept taking it of my head.Halfway down the high-street arched in the doorway of a shop was a homeless man, mid to late 40’s, slim, long messy hair (wet but you could still tell it was greasy), unkempt beard that covers his lips with grey bits showing through it and he was huddled into himself in his wet sleeping bag. He looked at me as a puppy looks at its owner “spare me some change, sir” he said politely. I noticed he had yellowing teeth, and not many of them at that. I’m ashamed to admit to you now that I ignored him. The rain was intense the wind bitter and I didn’t have any cash anyway. But not even a “no, sorry” was muttered, I carried on to my car. Finally my car – a grey BMW with luscious red leather seats. And while I tell anyone who listens of my pride for this car! Right now, at this moment it was not it’s BHP, its torque or its looks that was its best feature it was simply the fact that it was dry. I clicked. The man sang of love, its heartache, and complications, the loneliness of it when it wasn’t returned fully. His voice was so heartrending, so powerful and full of anguish, Abigail’s eyes misted over, her nose growing itchy. By the end of the power ballad, she was actually sniffling, loving the song and the hair-raising whine of electric guitars that made it more enthralling. It had moved her and she gasped when the DJ jovially announced that it was Diavolo’s latest hit. He went on to mention Gabriel’s accident, and how he and millions of fans hoped for a speedy recovery. It took her about twenty minutes to finally make her way to the familiar imposing medical center. Having prepared before hand, Abigail tucked her blond braid under a floppy hat and switched her glasses for a dark pair of sunglasses. She made her way to the emergency room entrance and the familiar guard that always helped her and the band members make it to Gabriel’s room. She smiled at the guard. For a brief second.
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