Cold and dark
Positioned on the drippy drab, harsh steps of Charing cross station, deviding up a smoke wretchedth her lover. This Friday early morning is infested with drunks, and this time, we are not the most intoxicated; in compariosn we are doing quie well. Misplaced, shivering tourists blank us —a few ask direction. I start spreading our wore down ,quivering arms and legs all over the stone platefrom, passing the times watching stumbling silhouettes fight with the ticket barrier.
I seemed down at my view we had nearly two hours to kill. I started to loose felling in my hands. I can't remeber a time when I had felt wretched and woeful.
Then she appeared! She worked her way over to us with the last of her strength. Her baby blue
sweatpants are tinged with brown , and her feet are buried in trainer form clearly two different types brands. If I had not known betterI could have swared she was a ghost.. Her large coat seemed to be full of all of her worldly possions.. She limped as she walked, not like out of pain , but just because she was in too much pain to stop.. I stared at her withered form and imagining what drove her to this point ; that I fell like I am nearly dead after only two hours , and all I am doing is making my way home to my warm house.
She put out her wrinkled, trembling palm.
We look through our bags and find nothing but lint.
The darkeness of the architecture engrossed her bedevilled, pitiful frame.
I roll up another cigerette. Eveythign seems to be in slow motion, the world seems to be waiting.. I start to even the sleeping beggar at least they feel at home.
Then for seemly no reason the old lady returns. Her weak wrinkled hand hand, tired of pleading, had tracked us down.
She turned and dropped a shinny pound coin Inot my lap and said, " I think you need a cup of tea. Merry Christmas."
The city swalllowed her up once again before we could make sense of what had happened .