6am Saturday morning and I watch the Waif’s and strays wandering the vomit filled streets of shame. White shirt man checks his watch and stares at the concrete whilst plunging his other hand deep into his left pocket. Anything to avoid eye contact with the arguing homeless couple. She cries, her screams tired and lost he silently takes something from them and they continue up the road laden down with coats and bags, everything they are is right there with them, they hide nothing they are everything. I wonder who’s bed white shirt man has just left as he walks, the walk of shame, his shoes tapping the concrete calling to the devil.
Karen Hayward ©2016
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