Looking A Gift Horse In The Mouth

Under a bridge in Holloway, a narrow cellophane wrapper holding a bunch of red roses.  It was wedged into a metal hook in the wall to hold it upright.  Also there, neatly folded and forming a puffy cube: a duvet without a cover.  I hurried past, late, and wondered.  Usually under that bridge there are people, wrapped in winter clothes and lying under duvets.  Last time, a young woman had stopped to give a dishevelled man some coins.  Now just the duvet and the roses.  Had the flowers been a gift?   Continue reading Looking A Gift Horse In The Mouth