Change: A Monologue

Hi blog visitor,
This is perhaps the most requested page on my site. Which is great.

However, I've noticed some of the words being used by other people. A lot. So the post has now been removed. There was a time when I let it go out to people, but the requests are now too much.

Anyway, to give you an idea of what was here, I'll post the intro...

Why not finish off the story yourself?

[See the young girl holding a sign. It reads: Homeless, hungry, but human.]

Spare some change, please? For a cup of tea? To redecorate my living room?

Of course, I live on the streets. I don't have a room to live in. I don't live: I survive. My name's Mary, not that I expect you to remember. Mary Mary, quite contrary. Yeah, right. I never liked nursery rhymes, don't teach you nothing about life and you can't eat them. My Dad reckoned you could teach kids better things, like the back of a hand. Why? Beats me. Ha-fucking-ha.

That's why I came to London, about three years ago now; bunked the fare on the train; came looking for adventure. I certainly got what I wanted - an adventure.

Of course, I see you pass by all the time. Like most, you fumble in your pocket for coins, find only paper. I recognise faces, see. To you, I probably look like all the others, indistinguishable from the rest of the faces caked with the shit of the city. Do you think I'm a - what's the word? - dosser? Or beggar? A professional one, not a scrounger. I ain't got kids, you can't label me a scrounger.

I'm sort of in-between jobs.

[to read more, please contact me at the email address on my profile. Thanks]