A Helping Hand by CpSingleton. (C) 2013
Based on some truth, some fiction and some In-between.
He looked for all intents and purposes a beaten individual. Like life had continually stuck out a boot and he had ineptly fallen over it every single time.
I found him slumped outside the McDonald’s on Briggate.
It had been raining all morning, so his sandy hair was glued to his skeletal head. He must have been freezing cold inside the wet, smelly clothes that hung off him the way hand-me-down clothes do to a younger sibling.
A young student-type girl, with a mish-mash of styles and those ear-rings that make gaping holes in your ears came out with a coffee as I was going in.
‘Thank you,’ the bedraggled man begrudgingly replied.
I got the impression that he wanted her to help generously in coin and paper and not in coffee residue.
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