Never again
A cold night on the 1st of January.. Croched on the cold uninviting, harsh plateform of Kings Cross station, spliting a fag wretchedth a lover. This Friday early morning is full of rejected drunks, and for once, we're not the most intoxicated; we do not smell the worst. Late night, parenoid tourists blank us —a few are looking for buses. We start spreading our tired ,cold bodies all over the cold floor, watching over stumbling commuters battel with their luggage.
I looked down at my watch we had nearly 2 hours before the train came. My hands start to freeze. I cen't hink if i have ever felt pitiful and miserable.
Thsi is when I first saw her! She dragged herself out of the waiting room with the final of her willpower. Her baby blue
sweatpants has seen better days , and her feet are buried in school shoes. Her eyes look like they've seen so much sadness they're forever doomed to apathy.. They are eyes dazed with the work it takes to stay warm, and weary of the excess of privileged people.. Her hair was so wispy it remined me of the damiblions we used to blow when we were children.. I looked at her bent up body and wondering how this happen to her ; that I cna hardly bear to move , and all I am doing is waiting for the next train.
She produced her weak, pursed hand.
We turn out our pockets and find nothing she woudl want.
The darkeness of the architecture engrossed her ragged, sad silhouette.
I search in my pocket for my lighter. I make a silent scream, no one can hear but these two hours seem unbearable.. We sit staring at the sky just wishing we could see some star so we had something to talk about.
Then I she the old lady again.. A boney hand, heavy with pleading, had seeked us down.
She put a shinny pound coin into my hand and said, " get yourself a cup of coffee. Chin up your be home soon."
The night eat her up once more before we had a change to say thank you .