Under the bridge was surprising clean. Above cars rocketed by and under the wide river yawed it’s way to the sea. Snowflakes were coming down heavily. He was exhausted from the miles walked and freezing with winter’s touch.
He set up camp. Wrapped up in all the clothes he owned, his sleeping bag and a duvet he had saved from a skip. He was hungry and thirsty, he had no money and carried only a few fragments of his past life.
He slept, letting the traffic and weather lull his thoughts.
He never woke up again.
(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/11/14/16-november-2018/ with thanks).