God bless you
Croched on the damp dreary, uninviting steps of Charing cross, spliting a soggle ciggerete
with a boyfriend. This Saturday early morning is infested with drunks, and this time, we are not the most intoxicated; in compariosn we are doing quie well. Lost, unnerved foreigns don't even look —a couple ask for diections. I am spreading our shivering ,damp limbs all over the cold floor, watching over stumbling travellers fight with the train doors.
Their she was! She shuffles out of the waiting room with the last of her strength. Her red sweatpants are tinged with brown , and her feet are cramed into city stained nike trainers. She limped as she walked, not like out of pain , but just because she was in too much pain to stop.. Her hair was so wispy it remined me of the damiblions we used to blow when we were children.. On her face you could see the lines that had been worn out by tears.. I'm looking at $THOSEGLASSEYES and wondering how this happen to her ; that I fell like I am nearly dead after only two hours , and all I'm upto is waiting for the next train.
Out comes her trembling, decrept mit.
We look through our pockets but find nothing but reciepts.
As she moved away the staton seemed to swallolled her descending, sad shadow.
Ligh another cigerette The second seem to drag on , forever we coul dnot see the end.. We are pushing reluctant time forward as it digs its heels in at the dusty smells and sounds of old stories, at the sucking of smoke, at our involuntary shivers.
Then the beggar woman returns. Her boney weak hand, tendling with old age, is now answering. She dropped a small pile of change into my hand and said, " I think you need a cup of tea. God bless you." Darkeness swalllowed her up again before we had a change to say thank you .