1st of january
A cold night on the 1st of January.. Parked on the bleak drab, damp steps of Waterloo Station, sharing a benson and hedge cigerette coldth her friend. This Saturday nighttime is infested with drunks, and for the first time, we are not the worst off; we don;t even look that bad by comparison.. Lost, cold foreigns try and pertend we don't exist —a few are looking for buses. I start spreading our tired ,quivering bodies alll other the sold floor, passing the times watching stumbling people wrestle with their luggage.
I surfed down at my follow we had just under 2 hours to kill. I damm myself for not taking a jumper. I can't remeber a time when I had felt miserable and cold.
Thsi is when I first saw her! She worked her way over to us with the last of her strength. Her blue sweatpants are tinged with brown , and her feet are wedged into city stained nike trainers. She limped as she walked, not like out of pain , but just because she was in too much pain to stop.. Her eyes look like they've seen so much sadness they're forever doomed to apathy.. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. I'm looking at her withered face and thinking she reeks of survival ; that I really didn't have anything to complain about , and all I'm upto is making my way home to my warm house.
She put out her weak, shaking mit.
We look through our bags $FIND nothing.
The darkeness of the architecture consumed her tormented, dejected shadow.
I spend soem time searching for mches. The second seem to drag on , forever we coul dnot see the end.. Eveythign seems to be in slow motion, the world seems to be waiting.
Then out of nowhere she returns.. The wrinkled hand, tired of pleading, had tracked us down.
She dropped a small pile of change into my palm and says, " buy yourself a cuppa. God bless you."