How Fortunate

Snuggled into my warm, wool winter coat, head hunched into my shoulders against the wind, I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets and strode determinately on. I had finally left the house for a couple of errands on this cold day and refused to be deterred by a couple of icy blasts of air. In fact, after a few minutes of walking, I began to find it surprisingly refreshing.
There weren’t many people out in the streets. While it wasn’t quite snow weather, it was treacherous enough for most to stay indoors with tall glasses of hot cocoa and watch the trees bend crazily from the window.
As I rounded a corner, I noticed a stout figure leaning against someones front wall. A cheap jacket was his only shield against the cold, a crude, square shaped haircut crowned his head and he seemed to be loitering without any specific purpose. My area has become increasingly populated with the Polish in the past decade, the number escalating at an alarming rate. No good has resulted in their migration to our country, despite the fact that their menial labour consisting mainly of building, cleaning and plumbing, is cheap.
I crossed the street and noted with some underlying relief that he decided right then to leave his spot and head toward the same direction was heading. Nonetheless I would be behind and this detail comforted me somewhat.
It was an interesting walk from that point. Almost feeling stuck behind the Polish fellow, I paced my steps according to his to make sure we did not switch positions, feeling I had the current advantage. Practically on his heels, I was able to follow his actions carefully- and was brought to some startling realizations and feelings.
To begin with, the guy walked with an air of overbearing superiority, as if he owned the street. As time went on he removed his earphones and began stepping in time to the beat in his eardrums, as if no one else existed on the street.
About half way down the block, he removed from his pocket a bottle of what could only have been beer. I felt my mouth turn down in disgust as he obtrusively lurched the top off and flicked it harshly in the direction of the gutter. Then, predictably, he brought the opening to his mouth and began gulping its contents, tilting his head backward and making a great show of angling the bottle just so. I averted my eyes and pretended not to notice.
The drink emptied, a swift, ungraceful throw had it sailing pathetically through the air into a neighbours front garden bin. I don’t even think our Polish acquaintance looked once around him to ensure passerby were not in harms way before he thrust out his arm.
I bit my lip and kept on going. Another two minutes and I would have reached my destination...
The rest of the block passed by. The walk was uneventful, except for the bi-minute spits onto the street, the kicking of random materials on the floor and the menacing hood that went up as the winds picked up speed. A passing friend, also lounging against a wall, was greeted with a tight fisted hand shake and a rough slap on the back. Loud, coarse laughter was exchanged. I hung back to keep my distance.
Finally, we approached the corner. Eying the pub that graced the end of the street, I made a quick and in-genius prediction in my head: Mr. Polish was definitely going to turn in right there. With a sense of disgust and contempt, I watched him saunter toward his destination. Sure enough, I had assumed correct. The double doors of the old beer house were easily pushed open by one hefty shoulder and the Pole disappeared within its dark, gloomy confines.
As I passed by after him, I took an automatic glance through the dense windows. Dim lighting, punctuated by a couple of TV screens met my gaze. Tables occupied most of the room, and every one of them held an alcoholic drink. Men of all ages lounged in the chairs, on the bar, by the snooker table. Their faces were red, their eyes glazed over.
I drew back and a sudden smile graced my face. Here I am, on the other side of the wall. Beyond it lies frivolity, pettiness, emptiness, blackness. A destination and a sole life for some of the people within. I thought of my life and the reasons I have for living it. The purpose I am striving for. The meaning I try to convey. The true happiness I derive.
How fortunate are we.