Soggy ciggerete
Sitting on the dank damp, drab plateform of Wood green station, spliting a soggy ciggerete
feebleth her shivering boyfirend. This Saturday night is a commune for the drunk and hopeless, and for once, we are not quite the most intoxicated; by comparison we are looking quite good. Latenight, shivering tourists blank us —a few anchknoledge us. I start spreading our shivering ,wore down bodies alll other the sold floor, amusing ourself with the stumbling silhouettes fight with the ticket barrier.
I looked down at my phone we had about two hours before the train came. I damm myself for not taking a jumper. I cen't hink if i have ever felt freezing and wretched.
Then she appeared! She climbed up the steps with the last of her will-power. Her baby pink sweatpants are tinged with brown , and her feet are cramed into city stained bunny slippers. She cleared areas of the station just by walking through them. 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.. I stared at those glass eyes and wondering how this happen to her ; that I am to frozen to move , and all I'm upto is waiting for the next train.
She produced her pursed, weak palm.
We look through our bags but find no change.
The month of the sation absorbed her tortured, miserable silhouette.
I search in my bags for a packat of fags. I start to even the sleeping beggar at least they feel at home.. My body convusrse, almost like it is beggin me to find warth.
Then the beggar woman returns. Her wrinkled hand, tired of pleading, had returned.
She dropped a small pile of change Inot my lap and said, " buy yourself a cuppa. Chin up your be home soon."
The darkness eat her up once more before we had a chance to thank her .