The Atlantis of hobos

He saw her.
It was in the middle of winter, strange time for him to go to the park.
But she was there, digging her ratty shoes into the frozen dirt.
He watched her as she grew impatient for some reason.
Her straw-colored hair began to fall loose from its bun.
He wanted to brush that rogue hair behind her tiny ears.
As he watched from a faraway park bench, his fingers began to freeze to the cheap wood.
A man finally came for the young woman.
He was dressed in dirty clothes, as if they had been worn for several days.
They fought in the quiet park.
Their yells echoed against the barren trees.
He threw something at her and walked away.
She cried, but seemed relieved.
The scene was quite an eyesore for the man, but he continued to watch.
Slowly, he walked towards her.
He felt like a little child, watching its mother display uncharacteristic humanity.
She noticed him almost immediately.
She was less pretty up close, but still pleasing.
As she regarded each inch of his face, her eyes dilated and contracted.
"Buzz off," she yelled.
She picked up her bag and darted off to an underpass.
He watches. He thinks he's in love. He wants to call the cops.
He follows into the underpass, the cliche' hangout for murderous hobos.
He was called to her siren's song.
"Where I want to be is where she'll be."

Blogging inspired by "Atlantis" by Donovan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEtOFnirc1k