The given words at this week's Sunday's Whirligig are bickering asleep floor hear breath soft cord frayed signal bed awake and separate. I used all but one.
When the bickering turned to bitterness they went their separate ways. A shadow of his former self, he spent his empty days wandering the streets dependent upon the generosity of the caring few, yet invisible to most. His once stylish clothes replaced by a frayed and filthy coat tied up with a length of knotted cord.
No soft bed for him, not for years. Every night he had a few hours restless sleep on the floor in a shop doorway. He normally shuffled off at sunrise. But yesterday morning he was still there when the shopkeeper arrived to open the store. Assuming he was asleep, she gently nudged him. He fell onto his side, never again to awake, his wheezing breath gone from his frail body.
This morning the street cleaner swept away the bunches of limp flowers that tumbled along the pavement in the chill winter wind.