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Every morning you used to absent-mindedly cross the square in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Each and every time you took a  Latte at a café, and then head to the nearest bus stop, where adouble-decker bus took you to university or work. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday - each day the same - St. Paul’s, café, bus stop, double-decker. Every single morning you used to do the same, until one day something altered.
Mud was a beggar, whom everybody knew. He always showed up on the front steps of St. Paul’s when everyone was still asleep, and disappeared when the streets were already empty. Rain or sun, summer or winter, Mud was always there - muffled in a drab coat, his head down, eyes fixed to the ground. You would notice a  few people dropping five or ten pence to the hat lying a couple metres from Mud’s feet, but you had never noticed a single person talking to him, smiling at him, or even looking straight at him. You never gave deeper thought to that until one morning London woke up covered in snow.
Two moths were enough for you to get used to the warm weather of this city, so now you were clutching the cup of coffee, shivering inside the café, still hoping to warm yourself before heading back into the freezing cold. This was the moment when through the frosty window you noticed Mud. You felt astonished that he was sitting on the steps again, ignoring the weather, and you wondered how you could have not noticed him, even though you did walk by him just a couple of minutes ago. Someone opened the door and your cheeks were instantly frostbitten. You reluctantly stepped outside, already contemplating the shortest way to the bus stop, when suddenly you stopped. The coffee cup in your hand seemed to be hotter than ever, almost burning your hand. You turned around, and looked at the front steps of the church again. Of course, he was still there. And even from such lengthy a distance you could see his shivers and misty breath clouds. A little unsure, you started walking towards him.

When you were close enough, you pulled a twenty pence coin out of your pocket, and put it silently in the epmty hat that was again lying in a reasonable distance from the man’s legs. You straightened yourself and stood in front of him for a while, waiting. Only then did he raise his head and nod slightly, whispering an inaudible ‘Thank You’. But you were still there, holding the cup of boiling coffee in your shivering hand, embarrassed to start a conversation.
‘I am very sorry mister’ you said in a silent voice, and the man’s head popped up instantly, a pair of bright blue eyes piercing you through just like the cold wind, howling around St. Paul’s. ‘…I bought a coffee cup just a couple of minutes ago, and I wondered whether you would like to drink it? ’. The man stared at you with disbelief, then turned his eyes to the cup. He frowned. ‘It’s nothing wrong with it, I just didn’t think well before buying it today’ you ensured him, starting to have secret thoughts about putting the coffee by the hat and running away from this odd man. But before you decided to do anything, the manstretched his hand towards the cup, and you happily gave it. You were about tosmile and say a good-bye, but the man, still staring at the cup, spoke in a  husky voice - ‘Can I ask you something? Why did you buy the coffee, if you did not want it? ’. He was not sarcastic, nor it was an insult. You could feel the sincerity in this man’s voice and in his question. ‘It is just something that I do every morning. A ritual, you might say’ you answered with a grin, and turned around to go, but for a second you wondered, and then turned around again to say - ‘You shouldn’t spend too much time here, it’s freezing. Have a good day! ’. A strange crooked smile appeared on the man’s face, and a thought that he must have never smiled for a long time ran through your mind.

2010-11-30 20:37
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