Four cans of cold lager stood flatly on the window sill. The man with the blue coat and haunted eyes stood guard over them like trophies.
But these were not the trophies you would find on the mantlepiece of a cosy warm house.
But they had been earned in the same way.
The Man with the Blue Coat and haunted eyes in the pouring rain settled down for the night on the cold concrete under the apartment block whilst overhead the warm glow of candlelight shone from the windows casting its flickering light down on to the wet pavement where the man with the blue coat and haunted eyes lay ‘per chance to sleep’.
Circumstance was all that separated those high above in their warm beds and him below.
He zipped up his sleeping bag and carefully placed his ‘trophies’ inside. This was the cold comfort, his only hope of surviving another night on the concrete streets of Cork City. Homeless.
The unforgiving rain and bitter wind cut through the night like a savage beast, offering no chance of comfort for the man with the blue coat and haunted eyes.
And I wondered what had brought him to this place.
His reply: “Circumstances.”
He shuffled to get nearer the wall in the hope of shelter. His clothes now soaked through from the blinding rain. His body cold and aching. His spirit broken.
And I thought to myself “man is so small. His depth of suffering so immense.”
And I wondered would he be still alive in the morning.
As all around me the bells rang out, it’s Christmas day.
Thousands of years and thousands of miles from Bethlehem And still no room at the Inn.
His name is John.