There’s always a young, pretty Romanian outside Skärmarbrink station, sitting on an overturned plastic crate. Baby photos. Paper Cup.
Days I’m light I smile. Better’n nothing.
So many invisible souls, every corner, every day. Pick one I figure. One. And make her yours.
I bring empty aluminum cans. Out-of-date bread. She shakes my hand ’til my arm’s ready to detach.
Collected dog-eared paperbacks yesterday. DVDs. Made an alluring cardboard sign: EVERYTHING 10 KRONOR.
Today she had an ugly shiner. Fat lip. Wouldn’t look me in the eye.
Maybe she got robbed. More likely: her husband wants to get back to basics.
Excellent story! Powerful and sad.
THANKS Carinna.
Damn. Didn’t want it to turn out like that, but sometimes that’s the script. Good one.
I appreciate you taking time to comment, Tony.
Very gritty and true-to-life, John. A winner.
Thank you for your kind words, Bobby.
Good one, John. Glad you’ve found an outlet.
Outlets are good, Dawn. Thanks. Knockin’ out a few of these every week, feels good to see my words in print again.
this is my favorite so far. to the bone sad and seen.
Blades! Thank you sister!