13th of April
The 13th of April. Positioned on the dreary lonely, cold plateform of Paddington station, spliting a rolly woefulth her boyfriend. This Saturday night is scattered with drunken bums, and for once, we're not the worst off; nor are we the the worst smelling. Late-night, distrubed tourists don't even stare —a couple ask for diections. I begin spreading our wore down ,shivering arms and legs in a attempt to get comfortable, observing stumbling commuters battle with the escalator.
I browsed down at my phone we had about two hours to go. I started to loose felling in my hands. I don't know if I had ever felt freezing and old.
Then she appeared! She climbed out of the waiting room with the final of her enegry. Her crimson sweatpants has seen better days , and her feet are ratteling around in trainer form clearly two different types brands. Her large coat seemed to be full of all of her worldly possions.. If I had not known betterI could have swared she was a ghost.. On her face you could see the lines that had been worn out by tears.. I stared at her withered form and wondering how this happen to her ; that I was complain about being cold for two hours , and i'm just is hanging around for a train.
Out comes her begging, decrept palm.
We check ourselfs but find nothing but reciepts.
The darkeness of the city swallolled her bedevilled, sorry shape.
I sign and look around the station for some lkind of amusement. I stare for a while envoisuly at the couple takig up the only bench.. I feel myself trying to slip into a slumber, but the stone cold floor drags me back.
Then the beggar woman returns. Her decrepid hand, tendling with old age, is now answering.
She placed two fifty pence pieces Inot my lap and said, " I think you need a cup of tea. Chin up your be home soon."
Darkeness eat her up once more before we could make sense of what had happened .