second day of the second
The second day of the second month of 2000.. Positioned on the harsh dreary, uninviting plateform of Euston Station, sharing a smoke with a friend, who I hadn't seen in years. This Sunday night is full of rejected drunks and bums, and this time, we are not the most intoxicated; we do not smell the worst. Anxious, shivering tourists try to ignore us —a couple smile. We spreading our shivering ,cold bodies all over the stone platefrom, observing stumbling commuters deal with the baggage compartment.
I peered down at my phone we had over 2 hours before the train came. All my body was covered in goose bumps. As far as I can rember that is the time I felt the most wretched and pitiful.
Then all of a sudden soemthign happened! She dragged herself across the plateform with the last of her willpower. Her yellow sweatpants have seen better days , and her feet are cramed into city stained pilsoles. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. On her face you could see the lines that had been worn out by tears.. Her large coat seemed to be full of all of her worldly possions.. I'm looking at her darken visiage and imagining what drove her to this point ; that I was complain about being cold for two hours , and i'm just is waiting for the last tain home.
She slowely brought out her decrept, wrinkled fist.
We look through our pockets but their is nothing but lint and those spare button that came with the dress.
As she moved away the staton seemed to consumed her racked, dejected shape.
Ligh up another cigrette. We sit staring at the sky just wishing we could see some star so we had something to talk about.. I start to even the sleeping beggar at least they feel at home.
Then the beggar woman returns. Her wrinkled hand, tremberling with old age, had seeked us down.
She carefully placed a grubby pound coin into my hand and says, " You best buy yourself something hot. It can get cold out here."