Jamie

I met a man today.

His name was Jamie.

He’s homeless.

In the hustle and bustle of central London he was the only person to notice I needed help.

Everyone rushing and pushing.

I could feel the seizures building.

I was trapped.

No space.

I panicked.

No one noticed.

No one except Jamie.

He got me to sit down safely and made sure I was okay.

He gave me some of his food.

Food he probably needed far more than I ever did.

And we spoke.

He told me of the rock bottom he’s currently at and desperate to get out of.

I spoke of the downward spiral I’m in. How I had caught myself but stuff happened and now I’m falling again.

He spoke of all the mistakes he’s made.

I told him we’re only human and spoke about mine.

We spoke more.

And we laughed.

Oh we laughed about the people judging us and the ones checking I was okay because only now were they concerned about me.

They asked if I was okay and why I was hanging out with this man.

I responded, that this man was my friend.

If only you could have seen the look on his face.

Jamie was selling fruit to try get into a shelter so he could have a shower because he was trying to get a job as a cleaner at a restaurant tomorrow morning.

I tried to buy some off him.

He responded, I don’t charge my friends.

If only you could’ve seen the look on my face.

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