2 hours to go
Parked on the harsh lonely, bleak plateform of Kings Cross, sharing a fag poorth her friend. This Friday night is full of rejected drunks, and for once, we're not the most intoxicated; we don;t even look that bad by comparison.. Lost, unnerved foreigns try to ignore us —occasionally they ask for direction. I begin spreading our damp ,quivering limbs all over the cold floor, watching over stumbling people battle with their luggage.
I peered down at my observe we had just under 2 hours left. God what I would do for some themal socks. I felt so extermely pitiful and wretched.
Their she was! She climbed across the plateform with the final of her willpower. Her crimson sweatpants have seen better days , and her feet are ratteling around in school shoes. Her eyes look like they've seen so much sadness they're forever doomed to apathy.. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. Her eyes look like they've seen so much sadness they're forever doomed to apathy.. I looked at her withered face and imagining what drove her to this point ; that if I could not deal with 2 hours then I woudl never last as long as her , and all I'm upto is waiting for the last tain home.
She produced her shaking, weak hand.
We turn out our pockets but we have nothing at all.
As she moved away the staton seemed to swallows her racked, sad silhouette.
I search in my bags for a packat of fags. I stare for a while envoisuly at the couple takig up the only bench.. My body convusrse, almost like it is beggin me to find warth.
Then suddley the beggar tlady reappears.. Her boney weak hand, trembling with malmtrison, is now answering.
She put two fifty pence pieces into my palm and says, " get yourself a cup of coffee. It can get cold out here."
The darkness gulps her up again before we had a change to say thank you .