It's a wonderful life

Snow filtered down from the black sky. Four out of the six street lamps on the bridge were broken, but under the light of the fifth a stooped figure stared down into the dark water. A rush of wind blasted along the road and wrapped the raincoat tight around the figure, staggered him. Beneath, the dark waters shifted, the swift cold currents rolling over each other like so many tonnes of muscle turning. The wind snatched up his words, turned them on themselves in brisk eddies. Nights like this made a nonesense of all things human. From a distance all that could be heard from constant repitition was this


"If only I had never been."