Sometimes I cry ,"They aren't real! They are just dreams, not reality. Only dreams." Thats all I do. Dream. Its the only thing I can do, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone pavement, empty coffee cup in hand, my eyes pleading - begging. Just one measly coin. Thats all I ask of you. Only 18 quid for the hostel.
But no, stupid posh totties can't even spare a euro. "Pah! Another down-and-out, John. Jesus, what has the world come to?"
I sit there, freezing, all wrapped up in my blankets, trying to sell some magazines. All I want is a place for the night.
My name is Rita Jones. I live on the streets and I'm here to tell you my life.
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Hi, was gone for a really long while - sorry - but I'm back now.
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