“If you could tell your past self anything what would it be.” Angie asked me the other night.
“I don't know” I had replied.
But I did know.
I would have told myself to stop. Stop and commemorate those unremarkable days that passed me by. Days when the sound of a ringing telephone would wake me, the voice asking me to step in for a colleague, on my day off. I would have told myself, rising from the warm, plush bed, to accept the offer with open arms. The spilling of a little coffee as I reach for the newspaper, to just let it be. Because these inconveniences were slight and passing. These were the days to cherish. To be happy for.
But instead I told her, “I don't know.”
Now, Angie gives me a drag of the roll-up she found rummaging through the cigarette bin, mounted on the wall of the Green Briar. As I exhale, the cloud of cigarette smoke merges with the frosty Boston air forming a puff of white vapour, and with each breath more heat dissipates into the cloud . My fingers are chilled to a clumsy numbness, whilst the cold seeps through the rest of my body. Tonight we sleep outside a run down elementary school, our backs resting against the bowed, chain-link …show more content…
Plastic cup positioned at my feet, my few belongings scattered around me. I hate this. I hate sitting out here, waiting for the clink of loose change to hit the bottom of the cup. When I first met her, Angie would advise me, “It's simple , look straight into their eyes and ask. They'll understand.” But I can't. My face reddens, I lower my head , and stare at the worn soles of my shoes. I'm worse than useless. A burden on Angie who provides for us both with what little we have. These past few months have been torturous, with the shelter closing down and the two of us collecting a pittance. At the end of each day , if the money's there, the question turns to its spending. Food or hostel? Hostel or food? Rarely both but as of late , with the weather being as it is, it's an easy
“I don't know” I had replied.
But I did know.
I would have told myself to stop. Stop and commemorate those unremarkable days that passed me by. Days when the sound of a ringing telephone would wake me, the voice asking me to step in for a colleague, on my day off. I would have told myself, rising from the warm, plush bed, to accept the offer with open arms. The spilling of a little coffee as I reach for the newspaper, to just let it be. Because these inconveniences were slight and passing. These were the days to cherish. To be happy for.
But instead I told her, “I don't know.”
Now, Angie gives me a drag of the roll-up she found rummaging through the cigarette bin, mounted on the wall of the Green Briar. As I exhale, the cloud of cigarette smoke merges with the frosty Boston air forming a puff of white vapour, and with each breath more heat dissipates into the cloud . My fingers are chilled to a clumsy numbness, whilst the cold seeps through the rest of my body. Tonight we sleep outside a run down elementary school, our backs resting against the bowed, chain-link …show more content…
Plastic cup positioned at my feet, my few belongings scattered around me. I hate this. I hate sitting out here, waiting for the clink of loose change to hit the bottom of the cup. When I first met her, Angie would advise me, “It's simple , look straight into their eyes and ask. They'll understand.” But I can't. My face reddens, I lower my head , and stare at the worn soles of my shoes. I'm worse than useless. A burden on Angie who provides for us both with what little we have. These past few months have been torturous, with the shelter closing down and the two of us collecting a pittance. At the end of each day , if the money's there, the question turns to its spending. Food or hostel? Hostel or food? Rarely both but as of late , with the weather being as it is, it's an easy