Cold cobbles

The contrast was stark, harsh and sheer. It was not a subtle time of year. 

Rising early in the dead of the dark winter morning he prepared himself - to oust his weary bones from the warmth - and into the rough, and unforgiving winter air.

Everything was done at a compromise now. 

He stirred slowly, trying to wake gradually, rolling lightly and staring around the room. It was no use. Can't avoid disturbing someone somewhere as usual. 

In the darkness he placed his feet on the ground. 

Delicate and slight movements. 

It would be a while before the light of day break would seep into the window. Better not wake the Russian. 

He wasn't snoring now, but had kept many guests in the room tossing and turning on many nights. The burly Russian was a hearty man, with a large chest reliably capable of maintaining a sound of raucous proportions. 

There was no time to dwell on it. 

He had long accepted his inevitable routine. He didn't question it now, not any more. Fighting it just made it worse, especially at this time of year. 

He stretched upward and gather his things. Clutching his clothes he headed to shower. Everything was cold, the floor, the sink, the buckle of his belt as it touched his skin. It all prepared him for what was to come. 

The hot water of the shower felt like a life giving ether as it poured over and down his body. Maybe just stand here all day. 

Before too much steam could mist them mirror he shaved and glanced at the clock on the wall. Time and his conscience, what else was there. 

The wind whistled to him as he slung on his long overcoat and pulled it close around him. It told of the dark and bitter day that was about to begin, to warn as well as welcome him. It reminded him to carry his comb in his inside pocket. Going to be blown this way and that today. 

The Russian rolled and grunted. 

Gathering his wrapped lunch and placing it under his arm he braced himself and headed for the door. The days were long now, stretching from the dead of the early morning to the dead of the early evening. Nothing really lived now, it just got by until spring. 

Wonder if the Russian will come out of hibernation any time soon, gotta eat some time! 

He opened the doors and shivered as the cold hit him, it slapped him in the face and clutched itself around him. It held him and peeled through him and his clothes as if competing with live giving shower. 

It was a familiar feeling to him now. 

Not as bad as yesterday. Time for tea. His mind fixed on tea and the stall on the way to the station. As long as he got there after 7 but not much later he'd be the first there and the first away. Gotta make sure to beat the other crazies. 

The wind from the sea swept him along. 

He could still see the lights of the pier and the promenade stretching away, the lonely yellow lights ever present as his breath appeared before him in the air, and the frozen ground crunched under the weight of his frozen toes. 

The anticipation of tea warmed him as he walked. Tea tea tea. He held its image in his mind as his tense body and chattering teeth moved through the old city streets one by one glancing only down at the cold cobble stones.