He didn't have an identity.

Faceless figures hastily crossed the streets and went on their way along the pedestrian walkways. The Young Man wearily pulled himself along the road, the collars of his trench coat blowing gently in the wind. The streets of the City were a comfortable cooling temperature, like the inside of a wine cellar. As clusters of people fluttered about the clean streets, the 5 o’clock sun shed its gentle rays on all, providing the faintest wisps of warmth.

There was, of course, the option of taking a bus. That definitely would not work out, though. The Young Man knew that. With only 23 dollars left in his wallet, unnecessary costs were out of the question.

He still had numerous questions clamouring inside his mind. So many questions, and all of them remained unanswered…

There would come a time to have them resolved, but it was not now. The Young Man could feel his stomach quivering disturbingly, a hideous sourish taste forming in the deep end of his oesophagus. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

A number of streets down was a general store, displaying a number of trays stacked with fresh produce. As the Young Man took slow, tired steps down the walkway, he could smell the faintest fragrance of some fruits of a sort. The beautiful, heavenly aroma of some nameless ambrosia.

Stepping into the store, the Young Man was greeted to the smell of citrus fruits. A middle aged woman sat behind the counter, chopping limes and tossing the chunks into a bowl. As soon as she saw him, the scruffy man in a beige trench coat, she looked up from her task and scowled at him squarely.

“What can I do for you?”

The Young Man shifted his gaze about the store a little awkwardly. He knew what he wanted, he just didn’t know how to put it. It was a basal desire for some innate need, and he didn’t know how else to put it.

“Could I have something to eat?”

The woman snorted grouchily, stabbing the knife into the knife rack. She was, generally, more amicable to people who knew what they wanted.

“Wow, yeah, real descriptive of you. I mean, what do you want to buy?”

“It doesn’t matter, I just need something to eat.”

“Well, then you have to tell me what you want to eat, no?”

“Just give me anything, I’ll eat anything.”

“I can’t give you “anything”, young man.”

The Young Man was at a loss for words. Somehow, he just didn’t get it. When somebody asked for food, how hard was it to just give him food?

Nevertheless, the obnoxious shopkeeper wanted him to specifically ask for something, and there wasn’t much else he could do. Taking a chilled sandwich and a bottle of sweetened coffee, the Young Man made his way to the counter, gingerly passing the two to the woman, who reluctantly scanned them and returned it to him.

Twenty one dollars left.

Trudging down the streets, the Young Man eventually came to a bench just overlooking the road, sitting down and unwrapping the sandwich. It was dry and flaky, but it would have to do. At least he had the coffee, which he planned to keep for as long as possible. Swallowing mouthfuls of dry sandwich with the occasional sip of grossly over-sweetened coffee, the Young Man could gradually feel his empty belly filling up again.

Of course, he knew that it was only temporary. It was five thirty, and in just one and a half hours, the sun would set. Yet, he didn’t know of any place where he could rest. This bench could work, but it seemed a little too… public. There was a group of people crowded around the bench. For some reason, though, they didn’t seem too happy. That didn’t bother the Young Man. At least, until a fat, hairy hand thumped down beside him.

“Hey you! Who gave you permission to sit here and eat?”

The Young Man was taken by surprise at the man’s question. Why couldn’t he sit there? It was just an inconspicuous bench in the middle of nowhere.

“Are you ignoring me? This is a taxi stand, and this seat is only for those queuing up for taxis!”

With such hostility, the Young Man reasoned, perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to sit there any longer. Standing up and shoving the last morsel of the sandwich into his mouth, the Young Man hastily apologised to the less than happy people crowded around the bench, making his way off.

Strange, how people could find faults with other people for simply sitting on a bench and eating a sandwich. If he only had his memories, perhaps the whole ordeal could be much easier. That luxury wasn’t granted to him. His only instincts were the very basics. Nothing else.

7:33 PM. The sky was already beginning to transition from glorious red to a bleak bluish hue, a few remaining wisps of the dying day lingering on just a bit longer. By this time, the traffic on the roads had worsened. Noisy cars clogged up every single street along the urban road, presumably headed for their homes elsewhere. Yet the Young Man still had not found a place to rest.

Clutching the half finished bottle of coffee, the Young Man, his joints burning from the strain of a long day of walking, made his way around the city, trying to find a place to spend the night. The temperature was dropping rapidly, evident from the bursts of mist that puffed everywhere as people all around breathed. Tucking his hands into his trench coat, the destitute vagabond dragged himself around the maze of concrete, glass and steel, his hope flickering like a dying candle.

He did not dare to take the benches, lest the regular users chastise him again. While they had spent much of their lives in the city, he was just a wanderer, and a wanderer with no memory. No recollections, not even a name. To himself, he was just… himself. Nothing else.

Leaving the central business district, the Young Man soon reached a park. A park, the perfect place to spend the night. After all, there were bathrooms just a little further in, where he could wash up. Going in and washing his face, the Young Man could feel the exhilarating sensation of freezing yet refreshing water splashing on his face, washing off the dust accumulated from the long day of walking around in the noisy, polluted business district.

Now came the problem of sleeping. Despite having had a bad experience with benches, his reasoning was that motorised vehicles couldn’t drive into a park, and therefore, the bench wasn’t “reserved” for anybody in particular.

Taking another sip from his slowly emptying bottle, the Young Man lay down on the bench, his heavy eyelids closing of their own accord. Taking in deep breaths and curling up to keep warm, the Young Man slowly began to drift to sleep…

“Get up! You can’t sleep in the park!”

The voice was totally unexpected. Sitting up groggily, the Young Man looked about to see where the voice came from, only to have a torch shine in his face. A man in a blue uniform stepped out from behind a tree, pointing to the exit of the park. “It’s against the law to spend the night in public places. You'll have to go home.”

Home. That word was probably the most unfamiliar and painful in the Young Man's vocabulary. It was something that he not only lacked, but also had no recollection of. And now, even when he needed a home, nay, a refuge, the cruel world stopped at nothing to deprive him of even that. There was no argument left. It was obvious that this man was in a position of authority, and it was pointless to argue against the rules of the city, no matter how strange and pointless. And thus, the Young Man finished his sweetened coffee and made his way out of the park, dejected and despondent.

A long night awaited him.