Penny Investments

It was the perfect spot, really. Under the bridge between the two stations with the little Tesco express tucked into the side. The hustle and bustle of the city couldn’t help but pass by him on the daily, while the heavy redbrick that he leant against kept enough wind off his back. Of course, there was no escaping the chill of a concrete floor, but he’d been out here that long that the numbing sensation to his rear was more of a familiar friend.


Photo by Cory Woodward via Unsplash

Armed with a week-old paper cup from Costa, he slowly emerged from his ragged sleeping bag as the arrival of the first train signalled 6:30am. A stranger had given him his makeshift duvet on a particularly bitter day back in November when the rain fell sideways through the bridge. Probably just an old bit of camping equipment that had been sat in the garage for the past 2 years next to the forgotten gold clubs and mouse-nibbled jump cables.

Tracksuit hood pulled up over his head, he crossed his legs, still buried in a sea of tatty polyester.


He hated weekdays. And not just for the regular “Oh, I just need a lie-in” excuse. The only people that walked even close to him had on the skirt, blouse and sensible heels of a day at the office and glued their eyes to their phones through the whole length of the under passage. Those people had places to be. He didn’t get so much as eye contact until at least the third train had come in. But still, there was the occasional moment when someone would rattle around in their pockets and remind him to “Keep warm okay?”. That made waking up worth the hassle.

All too frequently, he’d feel them gawp the back of his head as he turned away for a moment. Then they’d stare straight forwards and pretend they hadn’t seen him when he held up his little cup. That’s the thing with people – they’re all so nosy but rarely kind enough to help.

He had asked for spare change that many times now that it rolled out of his mouth more of a whisper than a plead. Most of the time his words fell on deaf ears anyway, and for them, he simply blended into the bleakness of the brick on which he leant. 

Shuffling back, he propped his head against the wall with a soft thump. 


What was left of last week’s collection, tucked inside his too-large trainers, was probably just enough for a sausage roll, and his belly ached for it.

Photo by Quaz Amir via Pexels

But what he ached for most of all was the simple luxury of conversation. It had been so long since he'd been spoken to by anything more than the bin man telling him to "shift over would you", or the cussing of the local chav. Now he desperately needed that someone to drag his mind out of the gutter and bring him into the present.

Someone to make him feel a little human again.