He found work at midday unloading hundredweight sacks of coal for the primary school at Stonebridge.
When he finished his knees kept buckling. It was raining and cold. He took his money and bought bread and soup. The food didn't want to go down. He hadn't eaten so much in weeks.
He was going home to Caerphily. He knew he would not be welcome, but he had circled the country and found nothing. No work. No help.
The rain was turning to sleet and the wind was blowing into his face. Miles to go. When he found the culvert he crawled into it but found it already occupied.
``Sorry mate,'' he said to the sleeping form. He crossed the road and entered the other end.
``Cold,'' he said. He heard a faint grunt from the other.
``Turning to ice,'' he said.
No answer. He wrapped his blanket tightly around himself and tried to sleep.
He found himself singing quietly to keep his spirit and he sang every song he could remember and then he sang them again and he sang until a sullen light showed in the sky.
He crawled out to piss and found the black world all coated in glassy ice.
``Time to get up!'' he called to the other sleeper. No response. The man was dead. Frozen. He crawled into the culvert beside the dead man and wrapped him in his arms to see if he could warm life back into him.
Useless.
He unrolled the blanket from the dead sleeper and looked at his shoes. No use. Worn to nothing.
In the first light he continued on toward Caerphily, two blankets wrapped around him.