Pockets empty he sipped the last dregs of cold tea
The grey man in the busy Café he hoped he could stay longer
The doors opened and shut
Cold icy blasts hit him
Not as cold as it was on the Falklands Islands
Nay lad never that cold
He thought back than thought better
“If your not going to buy something else you will have to leave”
Said the Eastern European lady
She looked angry
Not as angry as I was when Tommy was killed in 82
She took his cup
As quick as the mortar shell took his leg
She held open the door for him
The wind and rain hit his face
Not as severe as when he jumped from the C130 as a Para
Stopping at the door
He looked in to her emotionless eyes
“Green Light Go”
He exited the greasy spoon.