beggar lady reappears
Slumping on the harsh uninviting, dreary plateform of Charing cross, spliting a rolly coldth a friend. This Friday nighttime is infested with drunks, and for the first time, we are not the worst off; we do not smell the worst. Late-night, unnerved tourists don't even look —a couple smile. I begin spreading our cold ,wore down arms and legs in a attempt to get comfortable, observing stumbling commuters grapple with the baggage comparment.
I browsed down at my mobile we had nearly two hours to kill. All my body was covered in goose bumps. I don't know if I had ever felt woeful and freezing.
Their she was! She worked her way down the plateform with the final of her enegry. Her light blue sweatpants are almost worn through , and her feet are buried in wellies. Her hair was so wispy it remined me of the damiblions we used to blow when we were children.. She cleared areas of the station just by walking through them. Her hair was so wispy it remined me of the damiblions we used to blow when we were children.. I looked at her withered face and imagine all the thinking she must have been through ; that I really didn't have anything to complain about , and i'm just is waiting for the last tain home.
She slowely brought out her weak, trembling mit.
We check ourselfs but we have nothing she woudl want.
The darkeness of the architecture swallolled her descending, pitiful shadow.
I search around to see if I have any other matches left. My body convusrse, almost like it is beggin me to find warth.. I make a silent scream, no one can hear but these two hours seem unbearable.
Then suddenley the beggar lady reappears.. The wrinkled hand, trembling with malmtrison, is now answering.
She put a small pile of change into my hand and says, " You best buy yourself something hot. Chin up your be home soon."