Wood green station
Sitting on the damp drippy, bleak steps of Wood green station, deviding up a smoke with a lover. This Sunday nighttime is a commune for the drunken rejects of the world, and for once, we're not the worst off; nor are we the the worst smelling. Latenight, unsettled foreigns blank us —a few anchknoledge us. I am spreading our shivering ,quivering bodies all over the stone platefrom, amusing ourself with the stumbling travellers battel with the baggage comparment.
Then she appeared! She worked her way up the steps with the final of her strength. Her baby blue
sweatpants are almost worn through , and her feet are buried in pilsoles. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. She limped as she walked, not like out of pain , but just because she was in too much pain to stop.. She cleared areas of the station just by walking through them. I'm looking at her withered face and think about how harden humans can become ; that I was complain about being cold for two hours , and I am just is making my way home to my warm house.
She produced her pursed, wrinkled palm.
I ook though my purse but we have no change.
The month of the sation eats up her ragged, pitiful shape.
I spend soem time searching for mches. I stare for a while envoisuly at the couple takig up the only bench.. I feel myself trying to slip into a slumber, but the stone cold floor drags me back.
She's back again.. Her wrinkled hand, tendling with old age, had returned.
Unexpectectetly she dropped two 50p pieces into my hand and said, " get yourself a cup of tea. Chin up your be home soon."
Darkeness swalllowed her up again before we had any chance to refuse .