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It's a normal day, maybe even a good day if you want to risk looking at it like that and John Constantine knows only too well the dangers that looking at things too closely can bring.
The moment you says it's a good day is the moment it isn't but it's a nice day and John is willing to take the smaller risk and call it that.
He's back in London and his flat is in order. He's not too strapped for cash and he's got plenty of cigarettes. What more did a man need in life?
He stops in a park to enjoy one of said smokes and finds the world as it actually should be. Kids playing, mums chatting and a breeze that lifts the hair without disturbing the peace.
Yes, this is how it's supposed to be. Rain promised tomorrow but a sky safe for today. The clouds overhead merciful and the children loud and free from school.
They tell him it's a weekend and he feels somehow free from the constraints of their parents who labor burdened under the weight of the work week. They who always had to know what day it was. This was their break too.
John doesn't have a work week and it makes him feel good. He can see it on everyone else, a rope around their necks and maybe he'd have had an easier life if he'd picked up a time card and punched a few clocks but in a selfish way he's never been sorry he missed it.
He smokes and sees an old man begging, sign in front of him and dog beside. He looks out of place and yet he isn't, even on a nice day. Parks are for everyone and as he passes he stops and fishes out a cigarette and a few coins for the guy..
"You smoke, old man?" He asks.
The man looks up, eyes shockingly blue on an ancient face. "Do." He say's taking it from him. Even his hand feel old as it scrapes along John's.
Old people remind him of death and he doesn't want to think about that on this bright day. "Need a light?" He asks instead.
The man nods however and he fishes his lighter out too. The guy takes his time lighting it, playing with the lighter. "Thanks." He say's, finally handing it back.
John nods too and takes it back, tucking it away.
"You can keep your money." The old man say's, exhaling and looking up at him. It throws him off guard and he blinks.
"What?"
The man laughs and he's missing most of his teeth when he does. The one's he still has are rotten yellow from smoke. "I don't take from my own."
"I'm not the bloke with the sign." He say's, a little put off now. He'd been trying to be a nice guy.
The man laughs again and puffs on the cigarette. "Not yet you're not."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He's getting hot around the collar rather quickly. There's something irritating about the old guy.
"Eh?" The man gestures out at the park. "I see the way you look at them. You're not one of them. You think you're better than they are which is funny 'cause they all think they're better than me."
He was angry then and he scowls. "Look, I don't know what you think you know about me but you can piss off."
"Trust me, we've met. I know you." The man say's, still grinning.
"I think I'd remember." John snaps, hackles up.
The old man laughs again. "Sure you would." He say's. "But I know you. You're thinking: 'what day is it' and knowing they all know what day it is and you don't have to. You're the same as me."
John is still for a moment. That was startlingly accurate and makes him distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't think so."
The man laughs again and nudges his little cup. "So you think I'm worth giving money to but don't want to be me?" He laughs. "Make your ego feel good, then?"
John starts fuming again. "How the hell are you alive if this is how you act when someone gives you money?" He asks.
The man laughs so hard he starts coughing and John hates him just a little bit, the creaking smokers' cough sounds like his future. "Been asked that a few times." He say's. Anyway, it's true. You're a hypocrite. Same as everyone else."
John scowls harder. "Probably but it's worth it to you to point it out, huh?"
The cigarette is almost out and he can't believe he's still talking to this guy. He'd only meant to be half descent.
"Sure is." The old man say's.
"So where is it we're supposed to have met?" He asks, crossing his arms.
The old man waves a hand. "Don't worry about it." He say's. "You wouldn't remember anyway. I'm just a face in a crowd."
He's beginning to think the guy is a crack pot. "That so? You know what? You're full of shit."
The man starts laughing again and then he starts coughing and john finally turns and stalks off, stomping away angrily and balling his fists up in his pockets as he goes.
What the hell had that been?
He takes a walk to cool down and somehow without thinking winds up in the park again. He high tails it out before he has the chance to run into the bum again too and is almost home when he turns the last corner and sees something impossible.
The park is ahead of him like he'd turned back a few streets ago.
Like he'd never left.
He stares at the damn thing in the distance and turns around, walking more slowly back the way he came until. . .
He's at the park again and to make matters worse the sun is setting.
He goes at it again, walking in a different direction this time before the dread of it forces him into a run.
He's back at the park in the blink of an eye and angrily he goes for the old man but his spot is empty and so is the dog's.
He scowls and resumes his efforts until he's cold and hungry and very tired.
He sits down on a park bench to smoke.
It's dark out now and he's gone past frustrated already. He can only get so far before he's here again and he knows it has something to do with the bum. The old man was weird. Too weird and. . .
He ends up laying down, uncomfortable and cold and decidedly unthrilled by the situation but there's not much he can do about it at the moment and without meaning to he closes his eyes.
He's woken by a policeman.
"Can't sleep here." He hears the man say, he's pushing at his shoulder with a truncheon. "Come on, you can't sleep here." The man say's again.
John groans and sits up. "How'd you get in here?" He asks.
The cop gives him a displeased look. "You been drinking tonight, then?" He asks, light unnecessarily bright in his face.
"No." He tries to push it away but it just returns.
"Right what'd you smoke?"
He get's angry again. "Look can you just give me a lift home?"
The cop snorts this time. "Home?" He asks. "You're having a laugh. All the shelters are closed this time of night."
He blinks. "I'm not a bloody homeless!" He snaps. "Can you just give me a lift to my flat?"
"Look mate, just get your ass out of the park, okay?" The cop say's, poking him in the chest. "Don't care where you go, just don't go causing trouble. Okay?"
John is stiff and and not in the mood to explain so he starts walking and the cop follows.
They walk and drive in the same direction until the cop turns off and John finds himself at the park again, frustration waving over him once more.
Where the hell is he supposed to go, exactly?
He sits down on the bench again and lights another cigarette, bitter and angry. The breeze he enjoyed that afternoon is strikingly crisp at night and the trees creak in the wind overhead. He knows there's scarier things in the world but right now they trees are starting to eat at him as if he doesn't know anything. "Okay." He say's hoping someone can hear him. "You've made your point. Let me go home."
There's a rustle and then the old man and the dog come out from the shadows. He doesn't know how long they've been there.
"What do you want from me?" He asks.
"You think this was my point, John?" The man asks.
He doesn't give a shit how the guy knows his name, maybe he has met him before. Maybe he had more teeth back then but right now he's pissing him off and he want's out of this circus. "So what is?"
"You're like me." The man say's. "But you think you won't end up the same. You're what? A transient? You've never held a job or punched a card or shoveled shit and you're not the type to settle down and start. Where do you think people like you end up?"
John blinks. It's a little accurate. "Ghost of Christmas Future, huh?" He asks.
The old man laughs once more. "Something like that."
"So you're telling me what? That I need to clean up my act or else I'll end up like you?"
"You're cheeky and sort of but I know you and I don't honestly think there's much you can do to stop it from happening."
John bristles. "Why me?"
"Something in your eyes." The old man sounds like he's having fun, like he likes giving shit answers.
He turns away slightly. This is weird. He doesn't like this. "Where did we meet?" He asks.
The man laughs yet again. "Don't you remember? It was just in the park?"
He almost swings on him but the dog growls. "Come on! Don't give me that."
But the man is just laughing. "Oh Johnny, you gotta have friends. How many of those do you have left now, anyway?"
He wilts a little, that one hurt. "Who the hell are you?"
"Are you stupid? You're looking in a mirror."
"You trying to tell me you're me?" He asks sharply. "Because I sure as hell don't think so." He glances down at the mangey mutt at the man's side. "And I don't keep dogs."
"Didn't say I was you, you arrogant little prick. Just what could be. Your own Ghost of Christmas future, like you said. I'm just here to warn you."
And this time John listens, not well because he doesn't listen to anyone well but he's listening this time. "What'd you do all this for?"
The man shrugs. "Why not? Figured it was worth a shot." He laughs again. "Figured it'd be worth a laugh, actually."
"A laugh."
And maybe this guy was him, maybe it was some version of him or some fucked up idea of a version of him. . . he didn't care. Maybe it was just some old bastard taking the piss out of him.
"Well you've had your laugh." He say's. "And I'm not a damn bum."
The laughing grows almost shrill. "Not yet, John but people like you. . . you're gonna get old." He plants a thumb in the middle of his own chest. "Not me though. I already did that. I'm gonna die next."
He stares at him numbly.
"Give us another cigarette there. Come on."
He does so without thinking and the old man sits down. "If you manage to get old you get to die." He says.
John nods. "Suppose so."
"No supposing about it. Jesus but you're still young. You probably think you aren't but you are. . . ah nobody really see's it coming though.. ." He trails off for a moment, just smoking.
"See's what?" John asks.
The man laughs softly. "Time. Even people like us. . . there comes a point when it get's us too."
But John is young and clever and he thinks he can still find a way out of it all.
He doesn't say that though.
The man grows quiet before blue eyes find him sharply. "Hold onto that extra bit of change, Johnny. You just might need it.
He pats the dog's head and get's up, disappearing into the shadows and night and John thinks he hears his little cup rattle. Thinks he can still hear them. . . wherever they're going. . . clinking and panting, six feet padding along.
He can't and in the end he's left alone in the cold park, bones numb.
He tries going home again and this time manages it, feet passing the return point and plodding on past dark gardens and parked cars.
He has no idea what time it is and if it's still the weekend.
He still doesn't know what day it is exactly and he makes a note this time to try to find out. Maybe he'll start keeping a pocket calendar.
