Friday, 8 June 2012
Response 2: My Friend, George
He used to sit in the same corner every day. He never asked for money, just used to give a friendly smile and he was always in my thoughts. I don’t know how he’d fallen on hard times. Funnily enough though he always seemed clean. The only thing that was missing was shoes- come rain or shine George never wore shoes.
The man at the newsagents told me he could also be found at the local night shelter. I made it to the shelter later that week; stood in the queue mingling in the crowd with the box under my arm. You could hear one man sobbing and repeating, “No not George, not him! He was my friend”. The realisation that George was dead hit me, I was numb. Walking home I passed the corner where George would sit. I lay his new shoes down. I’ll never forget my friend.