Where am I

He sits on a bench in a snowy park trying to dislodge the crumpled paper ball of feelings that he chokes on. Harrowed hands are pressed to his face as he breathes. Heavy swollen eyelids blink slowly like sluggish windshield wipers. The only thing he savors, at the moment, is the instant that his blinking eyes close. When his eyelids touch, the chill in the crisp January air becomes apparent. Closed window shades make a cold frost fresh seal that sparks contrast against the rest of his fevered face. The last several months have been a blur. Jittery fingers crawl through his hair. He has just harvested an unproductive growing season. The only yield has been innumerable visions of half-friends and whole binges. Every image that remains on his mind's retina is tarnished. A bead of sweat trickles down his furrowed forehead as the concentration begins. Behind cool closed eyes memories flicker like a candle perched on the zenith of desert dune amidst a gentle gasp of air in an illuminated Arabian night. Pigeons rocket away from a loping homeless man crossing the other side of the park.This myriad of experience has blended itself into a frozen concoction of thirst that he calls unsatisfying. There is no where to turn, except in a circle. Exhalation forces his mouth subtly open and a tingle scurries through his chest, into his veined neck, and spirals down his spider-web spine as he sees the plume of smoke rise from his mouth. Perhaps his future just abandoned ship. There is no one to talk to, no one to tell, except for himself and the vagrant. A primal realization bubbles to the top of his tar-pitted conscience. His explanation need be targeted at no one. The explanation just needs to leave his body so the confusion can stop and the clarity can occur.