Underpass

We get off the tube, side by side, her dog leading her forward as her eyes stick to the floor. But she's not blind, just downtrodden. This is the woman who waits for me each night, hand out cupped requesting coppers and change hoping this time will be different. This time is not different. It's a thing to see her coming from the underground, like she's commuting at nine fifteen in the evening. Well, everyone's got to come from somewhere I guess.