He sits there, huddled, in the alcove of an abandoned doorway near the railway station. A threadbare suitcase and a brace of soiled quilts, his only possessions.
There is an unmistakable stench of cheap liquor and urine when one walks past him. When people turn up their noses as they pass him, it is difficult to tell if they do it because of the revolting smell or because they are disgusted by his hoarse “Spare some change please?“, knowing where their change would inevitably end up!
Continue reading “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”