fifty pence
Parked on the bleak drippy, uninviting plateform of Euston Station, deviding up a benson and hedge cigerette with a boyfriend. This Sunday nighttime is scattered with drunken bums, and for the first time, we are not quite the most intoxicated; nor do we smell the worse. Nervous, shivering tourists try to ignore us —a few are looking for buses. We are spreading our quivering ,wore down bodies all over the cold floor, passing the times watching stumbling people battel with their luggage.
Their she was! She climbed out of the waiting room with the last of her strength. Her yellow sweatpants are tinged with brown , and her feet are ratteling around in bunny slippers. She limped as she walked, not like out of pain , but just because she was in too much pain to stop.. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. She cleared areas of the station just by walking through them. I'm looking at her bent up body and wondering how this happen to her ; that I am so wweak to be feeling this way , and i'm just is waiting for the next train.
Out comes her shaking, decrept hand.
I ook though my purse and find nothing at all.
The month of the sation consumed her bedevilled, sad silhouette.
Ligh another cigerette We sit staring at the sky just wishing we could see some star so we had something to talk about.. I stare for a while envoisuly at the couple takig up the only bench.
Then suddley the beggar tlady reappears.. Her decrepid hand, tired of beseeching, had tracked us down.
Unexpectectetly she dropped a small pile of change Inot my lap and says, " buy yourself a cuppa. Merry Christmas."
The city gulps her up once more before we had any chance to refuse .