The serenity was only broken by the occasional pub he passed which had the gentry drinking and making merry. “Holiday season is the best”, he thought, “so vibrant and abuzz with activity yet comes with peace of mind”. The bend on the road along the river brought him to the city church. ‘Make poverty history’ claimed a big banner on the church. “Huh, Impossible”, thought he pessimistically and walked on. Right there at the corner, the tramp with a saxophone and a dog sat and was trying hard to reproduce what sounded like a Kenny G. He didn’t care tupence about the beggar who was sure to drink with his money. He walked on, caring for nothing else but not slipping on hardened snow patches. The fun part was to leave your footprint on the soft snow which hadn’t been trodden upon. The continuous snowing soon made your footprint disappear giving a chance to another pedestrian trying to have fun.
The ‘Pitcher and Piano’ was the place he thought befitting to mull over things. The slow music, the view of the Tyne and the bridges wearing white garb was the perfect way to spend an evening alone. All he could see inside the pub was some couples in cosy corners, a few old timers sitting and talking over pitcher of Guinness. He ordered a Stella and was soon lost in thoughts with strains of music reaching his ears. “A lonely night but, beautiful”, thought he.