Time misplaced
The second of feburary. Sitting on the damp drab, bleak steps of Euston Station, deviding up a smoke poorth a boyfriend. This Sunday nighttime is a commune for the drunk and hopeless, and for once, we are not the drunkest; nor are we the the worst smelling. Latenight, unsettled foreigns try to ignore us —a few anchknoledge us. We are spreading our quivering ,cold arms and legs in a attempt to get comfortable, amusing ourself with the stumbling people struggle with the ticket barrier.
I surfed down at my mobile we had over two hours to go. All my body was covered in goose bumps. As far as I can rember that is the time I felt the most wretched and woeful.
Then she appeared! She shuffles across the plateform with the final of her will-power. Her pink sweatpants are patch ups , and her feet are cramed into city stained pilsoles. Her hair was so wispy it remined me of the damiblions we used to blow when we were children.. Her large coat seemed to be full of all of her worldly possions.. She cleared areas of the station just by walking through them. I'm looking at her darken visiage and thinking she reeks of survival ; that I am so wweak to be feeling this way , and all I'm upto is waiting for the train to start up again.
She put out her shaking, trembling mit.
I looked in my purse but their is no change.
As she moved away the staton seemed to eats up her descending, sad shadow.
I search in my pocket for my lighter. I feel myself trying to slip into a slumber, but the stone cold floor drags me back.. Eveythign seems to be in slow motion, the world seems to be waiting.
Then out of nowhere she returns.. A wrinkled hand, tired of beseeching, had done the whole rounds.
She placed a shinny pound coin Inot my lap and said, " get yourself a cup of tea. Merry Christmas."