He stands at an entrance dressed in black The guardian of a contemporary temple where worshippers praise the god of alcohol He’s been slogging through this for twenty years no promotions ladder for him to climb no pension, no gold watch or carriage clock for his years of loyal service He has had enough, getting to old for this Drunken youngsters that can barely stand challenging him to fight easily placated by his practiced calmness He waits every night on the battlefield of a city street the frontline of an alcohol fuelled war and like any soldier he has no idea when his time will come each violent street side episode feels like a step closer

In two weeks time he will leave to labour on a building site after witnessing his colleague kicked to unconsciousness.