The cold bit at her toes. Pulling them to her body, she peered over the top of her blanket. The world was beginning to come alive. People hurried on there way to work, lights flickering on across the pale grey skies.
It was an odd time of day; it brought with it relief and pain. She was glad of the sound, the sights of other people. The nights grew monotonous, full of nothing. Every minute seemed like hours, every hour like days as nothing but black emptiness stretched out before her. As day broke, cutting through the darkness, she often felt relief. However the relief was tainted with excruciating pain. Every morning she would mourn a lost life; hers. Watching important looking people in suits, she recalled how once, not that long ago, she had been one of them. She had been somebody, until the fateful day when she had one drink too many. A quiet drink after a hard day turned into a bottle, which in turn turned into two, then three. A glass of wine became less of a nice treat than a necessity, needed before she could contemplate facing the day.
She went from being a respected career woman to a tramp, rummaging for change to buy cheap whisky or a warm drink. As people hurried past, not daring to make eyecontact in case homelessness was contagious, she sunk further beneath the blanket, feeling for the one thing which always made her feel better. Her one true friend. Unscrewing the top, she glugged down the sour liquer. Everything would be alright now.