3 months.
That's how long I've noticed him.
I've watched him with a certain detached interest.
I've passed him every morning, and for those first few weeks he'd always ask for some change and I'd always apologize.

In September, maybe he was new to the way In which I first saw him. He was clean cut, clean shaven, and wore clean clothes. Then he had been just like anyone else, He didn't stand out of the crowd. Only noticed when he politely asked for some money.

Now it would seem he's been consumed by the life of survival and what must surround him on Spring Garden road. He's quite a contrast now, he's frightening. His teeth are a dark yellow, almost an orange, his face is filthy, His hair is ragged, his clothes are soiled from the ankles to the knees with the elbows and back of his shirt to match. His shoes have holes and his eyes are sunken. He doesn't ask me for change anymore as I pass, still noting him, hand out, taking in his latest changes with interest.

In September I stood waiting for the bus and overheard him talking to a busker. It wasn't an intelligent conversation, but it was a normal conversation. The Queen Mary II had docked and the city's sidewalks had been more crowded than usual.

The day before last I was standing in line at the Coffee Shop and he was seated at a Table. The extent of his descent into ruin was made fully obvious. He sat alone at a table for two talking. He was speaking angrily, almost shouting, his face distorted as he spat his words. I followed his gaze to see who had upset him, but ahead of him was another table where a couple sat. They were about my age and seemed oblivious to him. They sipped their coffees and focused on each other, making an effort to ignore him. I looked back to him, but darted my eyes away as He turned in my direction. As I focused on what he was saying it suddenly came together. He was talking to someone in the empty chair.

"Haven't you ever had a philosophical Conversation?" He asked in clear English to the empty seat.

"Ya? WEll this F*cker Aquaman, we've gotta talk care of this F*cker"

"What are you, f*cking retarded?" He said, almost growling. I silently begged for the line to quicken, I was terrified now. He was sounding incredibly hostile, as if he were about to do something. He was sounding truly mad, his eyes wide, shouting, pounding a fist on his table. THe fat bitch ahead of me was stalling at the Cash! Mining through her Oversized suitcase of a purse for exact change. "Move you bitch! Before this Prick Stabs me!" I screamed behind my Terror stricken eyes.

"No man! You don't get it! F*ck Aquaman! We need to fry his Brains and dump him back in the ocean. Put that F*cker back were he belongs" His fist pounded into the table again.

"Next please." ... "Sir?"

I snapped out of it and rushed to the cashier, scanning the blends, not really reading them and answered. "A Large Paradiso Please"

I grabbed my freshly poured coffee, dumped my coins avec tip, sugared, milked, mixed and sprinted out of there, leaving his mad shouting behind me.

As I walked up Spring Garden Road and back toward my Safe and Gated home a chill ran up my spine as my warm coffee ran down my throat.

What could or would have happened if something had happened there?
Thoughts flooded through me, images from American Pyscho, from Nightmares.
I gulped my coffee and swore to myself.
Any sympathy once held for him now evaporated.

"Aquaman would kick the f*cking shit out of you" I said to myself. Smiling as the image of a homeless man impaled on a Trident came into focus... I gulped my coffee again and went home.