Chapter One- Not Here

Wrote this in June, discovered it this November, and decided to continue it (on chapter 4 now-they're all pretty short).
Working title for the book.



The night was full of bruises. Fresh blues and purples of street corner shadows, fading greens and yellows in streetlight circles blossomed now in the dead of night, rather than on the faces of regretful men. The night was old, and the barroom brawls had stopped quite a long time ago. Now it carried quiet, almost begged for some semblance of noise in its absolute silence. It would have been somewhat unnerving, had I not walked this route at this time every day. As it was, the emptiness was a bit odd when compared to the pub just a couple hours ago, when the boys had been rowdy and the beer was still flowing. I could still taste a slightly foul taste in the air, though it was a bit sharper when combined with the smell of old rain. Either way, it was nicer than the cigarette smoke and alcohol I'd had to breathe in earlier. Sometimes, I thought about quitting, but it was a steady job.

Small puddles from the day's rains were still present on the dirty pavement, still slick and glistening, but made no splashing sounds under my feet. On the contrary, it almost seemed to mute any possibly sound my light footfalls might have made otherwise. It did make my feet a bit wet though. I wish I'd remembered to wear my boots, rather than my sneakers. My jeans were getting pretty wet too; I'd rolled up the pantlegs before I left work, but they'd fallen down almost immediately.

Stores and apartment buildings lined the trashed sidewalks, decorated with unlit signs and dim advertisements. Overflowing trash cans added to the metropolitan chaos of the streets. Lumps and bundles of cloth interrupted the emptiness. I knew they hid homeless people, huddled away in their sleep, seeking a haven from the bitter cold. I didn't slow when walking past the groups of people, though pity bloomed in my heart for them. I couldn't imagine having to live out in the cold and dirt, carrying my lives on their backs, warmth found only in ragged clothes.

"You'll not find it here."

I stopped in mid-footfall, momentum shattered along with my thoughts. I looked around me for the source of that rasping yet clearly crisp voice. When no appearance was made, I looked downwards. The man laying on the bookstore's step was barely discernable from the dark around him. Rags lay about him, apparently no longer useful for warmth. He looked up at me with bright eyes, completely still, waiting for a response. I said nothing.

It was difficult to make out any real features with the barely-there light of the few flickering street lamps. I could barely see the muted rags that covered him, whose original color I could not make out. His grimy cap covered a great deal of his head, as well as the threadbare jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. A small tuft of thin, wiry hair stuck out from behind his left ear.

Never before had I seen anyone so absolutely covered. Perhaps the rags about him were due to them no longer fitting over all the others. His bright eyes shone out from beneath them, the only part of his body I could really see. He hadn't moved at all, but seemed to have been sleeping and then awake, no shifting or changing, just in one state and then in another. I could see no remnant of sleep in his glittering eyes.

"Excuse me?" I finally said.

"I said, you'll not find it here. And you won't."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by it."

"The thing that you're looking for." His voice was patient but condescending, as if talking to a child. But as far as I knew, I wasn't looking for anything. I was simply walking home from the pub. I told him so.

"Nonsense. Don't be ridiculous. Everyone is looking for something." He came to his feet, cardboard crunching underneath him as he shifted his weight across it. Grimy blankets peeled off of other grimy blankets, falling down in an embrace with the more hygenic ground. As he stepped into more light, I could see he was still covered in more cloth; a master of layering. My nose rankled and wrinkled from the stench that rose with him, but I stopped my initial reaction, not wanting to appear insensitive or mean. It was quite possibly one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. "Anyways, what you're looking for is much more important than what anyone else is."

I shook my head out of confusion.

"Oh, come now," he continued, "I know. It's alright."

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. Do you want some change? Is that what this is all about?" I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out a couple of single bills, pushing them towards him. Tips.

His forehead wrinkled and he looked more frustrated than ever. "No, no, no, I don't want your money. I want you to find what you're looking for." He batted my raised hand away to my surprise. What was his deal? I decided that talking to him wasn't doing anything. Another tactic then.

"Okay. Okay. Well I'm just going to go and look for it then, alright?" I started walking past him when a clawed hand grasped my arm. Firmly, tightly, but without hurting me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't suppress a shudder down my back. I turned and saw him looking at me, curiosity in the parts of his face not covered by his matted hair.

"That's the wrong way," he croaked. I sighed. This was the direction of my flat.

"Okay. Which direction do I need to go then?" I decided to oblige the madman and just walk from there. I could circle the block to please an old homeless man.

He tilted his head and gave me an odd expression. "Don't you know the way?" I shook my head, afraid for a moment that I was about to destroy his entire illusion. I didn't want to deal with an angry crazy homeless man right now. He sighed and shifted the one remaining blanket wrapped around him off of his legs. "Well then, I'll teach you." He pushed past me with a huff, stench falling behind him and hitting me like a wall. I waited for a moment, unsure if I should further allow his delusion, or just continue home. My curiosity eventually urged me to play along, and I began to walk towards the man, waiting for me at the end of the curb.





Thanks for the encouragement, guys!

Loved it!
Well, i don't really know what it's about yet but ether way I loved it. Your writing is great, it's interesting, I didn't find any boring parts. It was good!
And I don't nitpick, I don't care much for spelling or grammar because I believe you have to write the story before you truely edit it and stuff. But I didn't really see anything.
Please keep writing.

You are quite talented with description. Your writing allows the reader to completely visualize everything that is happening. I particularly liked how you described the night itself as being bruised. I would suggest that as you keep writing you pay particular attention to the amount of description you're giving. In this situation it was great, as you were setting a scene, but I could see future chapters becoming so dense with imagery that they feel slow.
This really caught my interest. The mystery of the man and his suggestion drew me in and kept me reading. Good work.

Alright, so, your first couple of paragraphs were nice and descriptive, and I was reading, going ''oh, this is nice' and then I just became to descriptive.

The night was full of bruises. Fresh blues and purples of street corner shadows, fading greens and yellows in streetlight circles blossomed now in the dead of night, rather than on the faces of regretful men. The night was old, and the barroom brawls had stopped quite a long time ago. Now it carried quiet, almost begged for some semblance of noise in its absolute silence. It would have been somewhat unnerving, had I not walked this route at this time every day. Small puddles from the day's rains were still collected on the dirty pavement, still slick and glistening, but made no squelching or splashing sounds under my feet. On the contrary, it almost seemed to mute any possibly sound my light footfalls might have made otherwise. There was a slight foul and sharp taste to the air, the combination of beautiful cleansing rain and the dirty streets it had fallen on, with the filthy pollution surrounding it all.

Stores and apartment buildings lined the trashed sidewalks, decorated with unlit signs and dim advertisements. Overflowing trash cans added to the metropolitan chaos of the streets. Lumps and bundles of cloth interrupted the emptiness. I knew they hid homeless people, huddled away in their sleep, seeking a haven from the bitter cold. I didn't slow when walking past the groups of people, though pity bloomed in my heart for them. I couldn't imagine having to live out in the cold and dirt, carrying my lives on their backs, warmth found only in ragged clothes.

I loved your opening line, then it just kind of went down hill. You begin to tell the reader more then show them, though, and that is a small problem for me.
You have to think, is there anything you could use the MC to show, instead of just telling the reader?
Slow it down, and show instead of telling the reader.

~WickedWonder

Hey, Perse!
I'll be reviewing this for you today.

The night was full of bruises. Fresh blues and purples of street corner shadows, fading greens and yellows in streetlight circles blossomed now in the dead of night, rather than on the faces of regretful men.

Nice opener, definitely arising some questions regarding how the night is actually 'bruised' and makes the reader want to know. You description was beautiful here, my only comment is regarding the 'regretful men'. What do you mean exactly by regretful and how are they connected to the rest of the sentence? Am I reading too much into it or did I miss something? I'm thinking you were trying to pull a connection with violence or something of that sort but I can't be sure.

**There is a lot of description in the first paragraph, not bad description. On the contrary, it's actually quite good and nicely written. But as far as novel's go. I would try not to drag on scenes too much otherwise your readers will get bored and might skip all the flowery things and move on to the next scene. A suggestion.

He looked up at my with bright eyes, completely still, waiting for a response. I waited a few moments.

I think you meant: He looked up at me with bright eyes.
The repetition of waiting kind of bothers me here too. Maybe you can change one of them.

I had no idea what he was talking about. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. What do you mean by 'it'?"

I would cut out the first part and just stick with the dialogue part of this because you're basically stating the same thing.

It was quite possibly one of the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

It is, it really is. During work hours, there would be a few customers who come in with terrible stench and I would just have to bear it with a smile. =(

I started walking past him when a clawed hand grasped my arm. Firmly, tightly, but without hurting me.

Ew, the smelly hobo touched her. I would insert a shutter here or something to make her feelings towards him a bit more alive. Of course, that's your call.



As far as first chapters go, this was a tad bit short but it's not a bad thing. In fact, it's so much more easier to review. However, if you plan on going deep with this project I would suggest making it longer. Now, I did enjoy reading this, it was fun and interesting. There are many times where I come across bad openings for Novels but you did a fairly decent job. I just wish you hadn't clumped up the introduction with all the unnecessary description. Although, as I continued I was happy to see that you didn't continue that. Imagery wise, I'd like to compliment on that. I could really see the scene happening in my head. Maybe it's because you're a poet and you have an advantage in that area. Perhaps.

If I look at your character right now, I don't know much about here. Not even her name. It would have been nice if you gave us a peek at her characteristics or something that could connect her to the readers. That would definitely up the urge to continue reading because the similarities and such. However, this is the first chapter and it was short, so I won't bug you too much on that. Also, the hobo guy is a tad freaky. O.o
I don't understand why she keeps talking to him or even stands there to listen. If it were me, I'd be a bit creeped out and I might have just walked away or ignored him. I know it's not nice but it's what I probably would have done, unfortunately. If she continues talking to him, I'd like to know why that is. What about him makes her interested enough to bear his stinkyness? lol

Overall, you have some wonderful descriptions, nice imagery and great grammar and punctuation which makes me smile. On the other side, I would have liked to see more characterization and all. You did a good job and most likely I'll be reading the next chapter of this to see how it goes. If I like it, I might follow your novel. Though, I'll have to read up till chapter 5 to decide and it seems like you only have two our right now which isn't bad. Otherwise I'll be drowning with all these reviews and never get to them or forget. =P
Well, I'll try to get to the next chapter soon.
I hope I helped.

Cheers,
-Shear

Persephoneia wrote:



The night was full of bruises Bruises? Maybe you could use another word, like shadows or something. The fresh blues and purples of street corner shadows, fading greens and yellows in streetlight circles blossomed now in the dead of night, rather than on the faces of regretful men. The night was old, and the barroom brawls had stopped quitea long time ago. Now it carried quiet, and almost begged for some semblance of noise in its absolute silence. It 'This silence' You're using 'it' so often that I'm beginning to get a little confused would have been somewhat unnerving, had I not walked this route at this time every day. As it was, the emptiness was a bit odd when compared to the pub just a couple hours ago, when the boys had been rowdy and the beer was still flowing. I could still taste a slightly foul taste in the air Is the narrator randomly going about tasting air? Maybe you should write: 'I could still smell a slightly foul smell in the air. And what does this have to do with the pub, anyway? Is it the smell/ taste of vomit?, though it was a bit sharper when combined with the smell of rain By using 'though' in this sentence, you give the impression that you had been talking about the foul taste/ smell being dull, and in using 'sharper' we are given the impression that the narrator noticed the taste/ smell back in the bar or back in another scene we haven't read about, which is very confusing. It would be better to write: 'and combined with the damp of the rain it was very sharp. Either way, it was nicer than the cigarette smoke and alcohol in the air I'd had to breathe in earlier. Sometimes, I thought about quitting, but it was a steady job.

Small puddles from the day's It's supposed to be raining currently, so there isn't a need for the 'day's'. rains were still collected present on the dirty pavement, stillslick and glistening, but they made no squelching or splashing sounds under my feet About the strikeout, choose one. Squelching if it's a mud puddle, splashing if it's just water. And that's a bit hard to believe, that walking through a puddle made no sound. Exactly how slow is our narrator walking? . On the contrary, it almost seemed to mute any possible sound my light footfalls might have made otherwise What does this sentence even mean? Unnecessary. It did make my feet a bit wet though. I wish I'd remembered to wear my boots, rather than my sneakers. My jeans were getting pretty wet too when you say getting you indicate that they are getting wet by the rain (because according to an earlier sentence, it is raining, yes?) ; I'd rolled up the pantlegs before I left work, but they'd fallen down almost immediately But then this suggests that got wet because of the puddle. So: is it raining or not?.

Stores and apartment buildings lined the trashed sidewalks, decorated with unlit signs and dim using this next to lights makes it look a bit odd (to me, at least) perhaps you should use 'tattered' instead. advertisements. Overflowing trash cans added to the metropolitan chaos of the streets Earlier, you mentioned that the sidewalk was trashed. I think you should get rid of that earlier part because it then makes this part sort-of unnecessary. Lumps and bundles of cloth interrupted the emptiness empty of people, d'you mean? Maybe you should mention the lack of people earlier, because using 'emptiness' may confuse the reader with all the emphasis you've put on the amount of trash in the area, they may think that is what you refer to. I knew they hid homeless people, huddled away in their sleep, seeking a haven from the bitter cold. I didn't slow when walking past the groups of people, though pity bloomed I think 'grew' would sound better here in my heart for them. I couldn't imagine having to live out in the cold and dirt, carrying my lives life. Unless our narrator is a cat. on their backs, warmth found only in ragged clothes.

"You'll not find it here."

I stopped in mid-footfall, rhythmic my. I think 'rhythmic' is a bit much here. momentum shattered along with my thoughts. I looked around me for the source of that rasping yet clearly crisp by crisp, do you mean healthy or something? Anyway, I don't think the word is very necessary here. Just 'rasping, yet clear voice' is fine too. voice. When no appearance was made, I glanced 'looked'. 'Glanced' implies he just turned his head down once, put it up again and moved on. Which he obviously didn't. down(wards) by my feet. The man laying on the bookstore's steps was barely discernable from the dark around him. Rags lay about him, apparently no longer useful for warmth in their destroyed state Unnecessary. The beginning of the sentence already implies the rags are unusable, which the reader should pick up on. He looked up at me with bright eyes, completely still, waiting for a response. I hesitated said nothing. When you use the word 'hesitated', it gives the general impression that the narrator speaks immediately afterwards. Which he doesn't. It also gives the impression that he actually has something important to say, which again he obviously doesn't as he doesn't even know the guy...Oh, that's odd. I've started referring to the narrator as a 'he'..

In the darkness, it was difficult to make out any real features with the barely-there light of the few flickering street lamps This sentence severely contradicts itself. It's like saying: 'studying the dark blue coat carefully I could barely discern it's redness.' The sentence doesn't make sense. First he says that there is darkness (implying a lack of light), then he talks about the dim street lamps. It's got to be one or the other . I could barely see the muted using this word makes it sound like he's referring to, well...sound. Not clothes. Perhaps 'scruffy/ bedraggled/ beat-up would be better drags I think you should just use 'clothes' here. 'Drags' makes me think of cars and drag queens. But then I guess you could put that down to my weirdness. that covered him, whose original color I could not make out. His grimy cap covered a great deal of his head, as well as the threadbare jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. A small tuft of thin, wiry hair stuck out from behind his left ear.

Never before had I seen anyone so absolutely covered in cloth Those words aren't really necessary. Perhaps the rags about him were really duemore to them no longer fitting over all the others. His bright eyes shone out from beneath them, the only part of his body I could really see. He hadn't moved at all, but seemed to have been sleeping and then awake When the narrator noticed his bright eyes, why would he think he had just been sleeping? , no shifting or changing, just in one state and then in another. I could see no remnant of sleep in his glittering eyes The narrator has mentioned how bright his eyes are twice now, are they getting a crush on a homeless guy or something?.

"Excuse me?" I finally said.

"I said, you'll not find it here," the man said. " And you won't."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. What do you mean by 'it'?"

"The thing that you're looking for." His voice was patient but condescending, as if talking to a child. But'Yet'. Using 'but' twice in a row is a little repetitive. as far as I knew, I wasn't looking for anything. I was simply walking home from the pub. I told him so.

"Nonsense. Don't be ridiculous. Everyone is looking for something." He came got to his feet, cardboard crunching underneath him as he shifted his weight across it. Grimy blankets peeled off of other grimy blankets, falling down in an embrace with onto the more hygenic ground. As he stepped into more light, I could see he was still covered in morecloth; a master of layering. I could feel My nose rankle and wrinkled Actually, that doesn't even sound like the right word. from the stench that rose with him, but I stopped my initial reaction from showing, not wanting to appear insensitive or mean. It was quite possibly one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

Speech on a new line. "Anyways, what you're looking for is much more important than what anyone else is."

New line. I shook my head out of confusion.

New line, it's a different person. "Oh, come now," he continued. "I know. It's alright."

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. Do you want some change? Is that what this is all about?" I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out a couple of single bills, pushing them towards him. Tips.

His forehead wrinkled and he looked more frustrated than ever. "No, no, no, I don't want your money. I want you to find what you're looking for." He batted my raised hand away to my surprise. What was his deal? I decided that talking to him wasn't doing anything. Another tactic then.

"Okay. Okay. Well I'm just going to go and look for it then, alright?" I started walking past him when a clawed hand grasped my arm. Firmly, tightly, but without hurting me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't suppress a shudder down my back. Fortunately, I stopped it before it reached my arm. The shudder went down his back, and then was going to go back up to his arm? I turned and saw him looking at me, curiosity in the parts of his face not covered by his matted hair.

"That's the wrong way," he croaked. I sighed. This was the direction of my flat.

"Okay. Which direction do I need to go then?" I decided to oblige the madman and just walk from there. I could circle the block to please an old homeless man.

He tilted his head and gave me an odd expression.

"Don't you know the way?" I shook my head, afraid for a moment that I was about to destroy his entire illusion. I didn't want to deal with an angry crazy homeless man right now. He sighed and shifted the one remaining blanket wrapped around him off of his legs. "Well then, I'll teach you." He pushed past me with a huff, stench falling behind him and hitting me like a wall. I waited for a moment, unsure if I should further allow his delusion, or just continue home. My curiosity eventually urged me to play along, and I began to walk towards the man, waiting for me at the end of the curb.

All in all, there are some unnecessary descriptions and some over-descriptions, but the story is fine grammatically and (apart from that one 'suppress') spelling-wise. It's very interesting, although there are some questions I have:

Is it raining or not? Because you mentioned that it was at a point, but then you didn't really refer to it again.

And more importantly:

Is the narrator a man or a woman?

Anyway, apart from that everything is pretty clear. I'm curious about the homeless guy at this stage, because either he's like that guy in the beginning of Stardust who showed Tristran's dad (don't remember his name) his Heart's Desire, or he is indeed a madman. Great job, and KEEP WRITING!

TIGERSPRITE

Me again!

Okay... I know you told me to pick either your poem or this, but I can't resist... I seriously loved your poem, and it would eternally haunt me if I didn't come and check this out too. Plus, I felt awfully useless when reviewing the poem, so I want to make up for it... Sorry... EDIT: I've had your permission now...

The beginning of this was interesting. I really loved your bruises metaphor actually; it was clever and you wrote it effectively. My only issue is that although your descriptions were wonderful, I wasn't sure if they were best suited as an opening to a novel. This is more of a personal thing, but I'm not a fan of descriptive openings. Why? Because they do struggle to draw me in; there's no real hook in descriptions. In the end, it's up to you what you think you should have as the opening of this novel, but that's just my opinion.

Speaking of descriptions, I really love them, but... There are quite a lot... Personally, I'm not a huge fan of really descriptive writing because, to me, they can sometimes feel a little bit wordy. Take the description of the hobo dude. The description itself was wonderful, but by the end, it kind of felt like you were dragging it on a bit. Like most things, people will disagree with me on this because it's a matter of opinion thing. I just thought I'd let you know my thoughts on the matter. I loved the homeless guy himself though... He was cute 'cause he was mad. Yes, I find nutty hobos cute.

If you do want to think about cutting down on the description, I have a solution for you. What you could do is not actually cut any of your descriptions, but add in some other stuff in between. Pink mentioned something about characterisation, I think, and I agree with her. I'd like to know more about your MC. When it comes to Mr. Hobo, you've created a great character; he's creepy, old, and my personal favourite, which is a nutter.

I want you to use the same characterisation skills on your MC. It doesn't bother me as much that we don't know their name, but it bothers me a little that we don't know your MC's personality very well. Another thing I have to say is kind of weird... Which is that I'm not sure whether they're a boy or a girl. That's probably just me though... xD Anyway, I'd like to see you brining out their personality a bit more. Different people think differently, but I always like to get to know the characters in a novel before it goes deep into the plot. I think that if you expand this chapter a little, we could easily get to know your MC a bit better.

That's about it for now, I think. I have to say that this was very wonderfully written! I have to be honest when I say that this isn't normally my kind of novel, but I like this a lot. I think I'll definitely keep my eye on it!

Keep writing,

xoxo Skins

My gosh, this is amazing. I'm really in a rush to get somewhere, so I'll review properly later - I don't have enough time to type up all that I want to say. See you soon!

First of all, I absolutely adored this. You have such a high command with language and have the ability to make the reader feel as if they were in the story (even though you are writing it from the first person).

More of that later. Now for some nit-picking.

The night was full of bruises. Fresh blues and purples of street corner shadows, fading greens and yellows in streetlight circles blossomed now in the dead of night, rather than on the faces of regretful men.

This is an incredible first line. It draws the reader in straight away and allows them to see things in a different way.

One of the only problems I have with this work is that you use colloquial language a little too much. For example,

The night was old, and the barroom brawls had stopped quite a long time ago.

As it was, the emptiness was a bit odd when compared to the pub just a couple hours ago, when the boys had been rowdy and the beer was still flowing.

It did make my feet a bit wet though.

My jeans were getting pretty wet too

It seems... unprofessional, would that be the word? when you use these casual phrases too often. You could be more concise and instead say, “the barroom brawls had stopped a long time ago” and “It did make my feet a little wet though”.

Now it carried quiet, almost begging for some semblance of noise in its absolute silence. I could still taste a slightly foul taste in the air, though it was a bit sharper when combined with the smell of old rain.

Great sensory imagery, except don’t repeat “taste”.

Either way, it was nicer than the cigarette smoke and alcohol I'd had to breathe in earlier. Sometimes, I thought about quitting, but it was a steady job.

Good. We have an insight to the character’s personality and life now.

Small puddles from the day's rains (rain?) were still present on the dirty pavement, still slick and glistening, but made no splashing sounds under my feet.

Do not repeat “still”. Also, the last part seems a little awkward. Perhaps you could break the section up into two sentences instead, such as something along the lines of, “Small puddles from the day’s rain were still present on the dirty pavement. They were slick and glistening, but did not make splashing sounds beneath my feet.”

On the contrary, it almost seemed to mute any possibly (possible?) sound my light footfalls might have made otherwise. I wish I'd (that I had?) remembered to wear my boots, (omit the comma. It flows better.) rather than my sneakers. My jeans were getting pretty wet too; I'd rolled up the pantlegs before I left work, but they'd fallen down almost immediately.

I love your last sentence – it gives an even more realistic feel to the piece. You describe small things that always happen to people, but that we never seem to fully notice.

"You'll not find it here."

Good introduction to the homeless man – it’s brief, sharp and straight to the point.

I stopped in mid-footfall, momentum shattered along with my thoughts. I looked around me (omit “me”) for the source of that rasping yet clearly crisp voice.

“Clearly crisp” seems awkward here. Perhaps just "crisp" would be better.

It was difficult to make out any real features with the barely-there light of the few flickering street lamps. I could barely see the muted rags that covered him, whose original color I could not make out. His grimy cap covered a great deal of his head, as well as the threadbare jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. A small tuft of thin, wiry hair stuck out from behind his left ear.

This is a lovely description of the scene. I especially like your depiction of the “muted rags” and the tuft of hair.

"The thing that you're looking for." His voice was patient but condescending, as if talking to a child.

I love it how he’s the destitute individual, but he’s speaking to the main character in a condescending manner. It shows that he’s not a pushover.

"Nonsense. Don't be ridiculous. Everyone is looking for something." He came to his feet, cardboard crunching underneath him as he shifted his weight across it. Grimy blankets peeled off of other grimy blankets, falling down in an embrace with the more hygenic ground. As he stepped into more light, I could see he was still covered in more cloth; a master of layering. My nose rankled and wrinkled from the stench that rose with him, but I stopped my initial reaction, not wanting to appear insensitive or mean (omit “or mean”. It is unnecessary.). It was quite possibly one of the hardest (colloquial again. “most difficult” would be better.) things I've (I'd? Your piece is in past tense.) ever had to do. "Anyways, what you're looking for is much more important than what anyone else is."

This is great – intriguing, different but not overdone.

He tilted his head and gave me an odd expression. "Don't you know the way?" I shook my head, afraid for a moment that I was about to destroy his entire illusion. I didn't want to deal with an angry crazy homeless man right now. He sighed and shifted the one remaining blanket wrapped around him off of his legs. "Well then, I'll teach you." He pushed past me with a huff, stench falling behind him and hitting me like a wall. I waited for a moment, unsure if I should further allow his delusion, or just continue home. My curiosity eventually urged me to play along, and I began to walk towards the man, waiting for me at the end of the curb.

Great ending – leaves the reader wanting more. You have such a unique idea which I just can’t wait to find out more about, and your skills in the art of sensory imagery are phenomenal. Just fix up a couple of colloquial expressions and awkward language, and you’re well on your way to a great piece!