We ate potato pancakes, cabbage rolls, and stew. Drank wine. Tipped the waitress £10. The kids were overjoyed by the icecream. A smiling old lady, mostly blind, was helped to her table by her aged family. Two Polish girls at the next table discussed the American elections.
Warm and satisfied we hunched our shoulders against the rain on the way to the station. It was ten steps past the doorway before I’d calculated the meaning of the pile of overcoats and bags there. This is not going to be an easy night or an easy winter. I went back to put my last £2 in his hand.
Later, waiting for the train, the 9 year old remembered leaving his book at the restaurant. Passing the doorway again I share a smile with its inhabitant. He’s not a runaway, or an addict, or any other category or label. He’s sitting in the doorway on a rainy night, tailor pose, as ready as a person can be for what comes. Human.