(no subject)
There are times when I feel humanity hates me. I am the only one in the world internally angry and frustrated that such a place can exist. Damn those few punches that I took when my phone was stolen. £30 is too little to survive on. Curse that bus driver who pulled away before I could get to the bus stop in time thus rendering me ten minutes late for work. The world hates me, and only me. I'm the one they want, me me me me me.
Kinda puts your own life into perspective. A homeless flutist taught me a lot tonight. Everyone takes shit, on all levels.
Jackie her name is. Tonight she is sleeping in Grove Park bus garage because it is unsafe to go back to where she usually sleeps, next to her murdered son's grave in Greenwich Cemetary. She was there earlier today getting ready to be locked in for the night when some lads, barely my age, coaxed her into handing out roll ups for them before they grabbed her bag and left.
Her bag contained signing on papers, all her indentification cards and papers, sleeping bag (stressing the importance of a built in pillow), the case for her flute, all the sheet music she uses for busking, and lastly a handful of photographs of her son.
No money, nothing of any use to the guys, but everything that she owned bar the clothes on her back and the flute in her hand.
I could tell she thought at first that I would be like them. I hope she sleeps okay tonight, we built her a shelter and found a spot near an extraction fan which gave out a little warmth.
It will be a long time before I forget the smile of that crushed and bruised spirit.
Kinda puts your own life into perspective. A homeless flutist taught me a lot tonight. Everyone takes shit, on all levels.
Jackie her name is. Tonight she is sleeping in Grove Park bus garage because it is unsafe to go back to where she usually sleeps, next to her murdered son's grave in Greenwich Cemetary. She was there earlier today getting ready to be locked in for the night when some lads, barely my age, coaxed her into handing out roll ups for them before they grabbed her bag and left.
Her bag contained signing on papers, all her indentification cards and papers, sleeping bag (stressing the importance of a built in pillow), the case for her flute, all the sheet music she uses for busking, and lastly a handful of photographs of her son.
No money, nothing of any use to the guys, but everything that she owned bar the clothes on her back and the flute in her hand.
I could tell she thought at first that I would be like them. I hope she sleeps okay tonight, we built her a shelter and found a spot near an extraction fan which gave out a little warmth.
It will be a long time before I forget the smile of that crushed and bruised spirit.