Slumping it
Slumping on the lonely cold, damp steps of Charing cross station, sharing a metho cigerette miserableth her lover. This Friday early morning is scattered with drunken bums, and for the first time, we're not the most intoxicated; we don;t even look that bad by comparison.. Anxious, parenoid tourists try to ignore us —a few get up the courage to ask for directions. I am spreading our shivering ,tired limbs all over the stone platefrom, watching over stumbling travellers wrestle with the baggage comparment.
I seemed down at my observe we had about 2 hours before the train came. I cursed myself for not bringing a coat. I felt so extermely moth eaten and woeful.
Thsi is when I first saw her! She worked her way up the steps with the final of her $RUNT. Her red sweatpants have seen better days , and her feet are buried in wellies. Her large coat seemed to be full of all of her worldly possions.. On her face you could see the lines that had been worn out by tears.. 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 bent up body and imagining what drove her to this point ; that I fell like I am nearly dead after only two hours , and I am just is killing time before I go back to my ovely soft warm bed..
Out comes her wrinkled, decrept palm.
We turn out our pockets and find nothing but lint.
The overbearing statoin engrossed her racked, dejected silhouette.
Ligh another cigerette 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.. I stare for a while envoisuly at the couple takig up the only bench.
She's back again.. Her boney weak hand, tremberling with old age, had seeked us down.
Unexpectectetly she dropped two 50p pieces into my hand and says, " get something warm in ya. It can get cold out here."
The night eat her up once again before we had a change to say thank you .