He cautiously assessed his surroundings, eager to remain inconspicuous. He had learnt from previous ventures to be wary. People took an almost immediate aversion to him, repulsed by his very being. Without any consideration of the reality he inhabited, they simply arrived at the binary conclusion that he was unworthy of compassion, or contextual consideration.

His appearance betrayed him, advertised the repulsing fact that he was homeless and had no regard for society, or its standards. Always damned by a first impression certain to catalyse disgust, never care. His existence within the squalid penumbra of society’s glare had taught him caution when crossing the Rubicon between the world he was forced to face, and that of those perhaps more fortunate.

With the rain soaking him almost to the bone and an empty growling stomach, he’d become a little braver. More accurately, he’d simply calculated that the risk of discovery was worth the possibility of nourishment. He’d weighed up the threats and acted on an instinctive impulse to seize the opportunity.

Living as he did outside of society’s norms, the first shock to his system was the volume of discordant noise and the alarming brightness of the arcade. His subsistence on the streets gave him a natural preference for quiet, dark environments, and the blaring fanfare greeting his arrival almost forced him to retreat. Hunger, that most primal of imperatives, drove him forward, though not without a visceral anxiety that gnawed away at his confidence, eroding his conviction like tepid rain melting gelid snow.

Over the years, he had survived on discarded scraps, never less than on the verge of putrefying into something even he would not eat. He learnt by experience that sustenance could be found, you just had to be willing to find it where most people might not go looking. Skips, rubbish bins and gutters could become resplendent dining tables bedecked with tasty offerings, if you were not subject to certain prescriptive or inveterate preferences. Ultimately, self-preservation dictated what he was prepared to do in order to survive, and he’d become a skilled scavenger though his meagre mass might suggest otherwise.

The arcade’s tempting allure tugged again on the chain of his appetite with relentless urgency. He could smell the food within, its pungent scent almost as strong as the sensorily abrasive cacophony booming within, was disconcertingly loud. That fragrance, however appealing, was no match for his naturally circumspect reticence. Life on the streets had taught him to avoid all that he was about to face, however the time to make his move had arrived. He gave his misgivings little thought, but caution paralysed his limbs nonetheless.

Fighting the fear of discovery, his hunger won the battle for his volition, and he bolted with almost psychotic energy for the garishly lit entrance, whilst simultaneously attempting to remain unnoticed. If they saw him, they’d know he should not be in there and they’d make every effort to evict him without hesitation, or mercy.

He crept towards what little shadowy cover he could find and edged towards the half-eaten burger on all fours. Remaining hidden behind the bulk of a large cage full of basket balls, he suspected his presence had gone undetected… so far.

The floor was greasy, but mercifully bathed in murky darkness so long as he stayed low, and out of the bright light flooding most of the room with its intrusive glare. His eyes fixated upon the burger, his mouth watering instinctively. He’d need to be quick. Lightning quick. Momentarily losing his nerve, he vacillated between prudent retreat, and the equally imprudent urge to advance. If he could grab the meat unnoticed, he could slink back into the reassuring comfort of obscurity and choose his moment to leave unmolested by those who would undoubtedly find him disgusting.

Fear gripped his will in a vice-like embrace, and he urinated, letting the hot piss pool around him. Hunger forced itself upon his consciousness and gave him both agency and courage. Darting across the sticky floor, he seized the burger and ran back to cover. He devoured the food, ignoring the piss he’d been forced to creep through. His teeth though sorely neglected, made short work of the cold burger, its juices slipping down his gullet, like wine a bacchanalian reveller. Far from quenching his lust for food, he beadily began to search for more abandoned treasures.

A large dollop of fluorescent, pink candy floss lay decomposing next to an almost empty bag of sauce-stained French fries. He crept towards both, pausing briefly to ensure he’d not been discovered. He lunged towards the oil-stained paper and took it with desperate urgency back to his unobserved hiding place. Unshaved, his whiskers quickly became soaked in the viscose, gelatinous tomato ketchup clinging to the chips like a drowning man a life buoy. He wolfed the salty delight down in greedy, rapid mouthfuls.

Though deeply uncomfortable in such a hostile environment, completely at odds with all that he naturally preferred, he had prioritised reward over risk and had a full belly to show for his cunning. Now his desperate need to leave had every fibre of his being on high alert. Insistent Instinct warned him to return to the dank shadows of the street, unless he wanted a confrontation he would surely regret.

He furtively scanned the doorway, assessed the danger and anxiously waited for his moment. He’d need the aperture to be entirely disregarded and most importantly, empty. His nose twitched in feral anticipation of the run, and he bolted manically towards the exit.

“Rat ! There’s a fucking rat in here ! It’s fucking massive ! Urgh ! Look it’s there, heading for the doors!”