by Kevin Wallis
©2010 Kevin Wallis
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The pull of the park was strong tonight. Perry considered fighting it, telling that smelly old playground to just let him be, but his feet were already shuffling across the road and through the squeaky iron entrance gate.
“Dang gate,” he mumbled. “Oughta close and stay closed, up to me.” Toothpick-thin crystals of ice jingled from the fringes of his scraggly beard as he talked. He tugged his woolen cap down to his eyes and pulled his three coats closed. The string he used in place of buttons was about frayed through, but he managed to keep most of December’s bite at bay. The stink of unwashed skin, however, crept out like the breath of the dying.