Never Homeless - A Short Story

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Help us to help Angie afford a little dignity. Read more. Search for: Search. Facebook Twitter Instagram YouTube. And to be honest, it was. Previous Post. Next Post. All , Homelessness. November 8, Homeless Stories. A few months ago I was walking back to my car in Brisbane City at night, I passed a lady sitting on the steps. I stopped to talk to her, we shared a cuppa All , Dignity Drive.

Australians are known to be very generous Making Decisions. Future Choices. Listen now The Homeless Angel.

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It was cold and I had a touch of the miseries. I hate the cold. It frightens me with its intensity and its control of my physical being. And some colds are worse than others. Melbourne has a terrible cold. It chills you right to the bones. The cold of London is similar.

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We were in London. Our small nuclear family was living in a basement flat. I thought we were lucky too. I had taken to feeling good and sorry for myself. Our reason for being in London was not going well. Our money was running out.

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There were personal problems. And it was cold. This day we were walking through the cold streets of London towards a warm restaurant and a hot meal. It felt like an inadequate treat to compensate for black snow and grey frozen air, and loneliness. Cold weather seems to separate people from their inner warmth, making them markedly colder in their emotional responses.

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It had been lonely there too. But Fate was about to give me a reminder. I may have a right to feel lonely, but I had no right to be miserable. I was a blessed lady. I was about to meet an angel. She was sitting on the steps of a closed theatre. I instantly understood her reasoning.


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There was relative privacy within the empty space between footpath and front doors. No one disturbed her small home of bags and papers. She was invisible to everyone.

Except me. My husband and child stopped a few feet in front of me. I went to them and explained my mission.

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I would do what I had to do regardless of his opinion. He stood with our son at a distance while I walked back to the "bag" lady lounging on the theatre steps. She looked at me as soon as I invaded the sanctuary of her private space. I apologised for my intrusion and asked if there was anyway I could help her. She laughed! She patted the step beside her and asked me to join her for a moment. I knew my husband would not approve but I wanted to share time with this stranger. I already liked her. And I really did want to help her if I could.

I sat down on the grubby tiles, once again cursing the cold of London. She pulled a can of baked beans and half a loaf of bread from her nearest bag and offered to share her meal with me.


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When it had been a while since he saw his brother, he decided to gather up what little money he had and head into the big city to find his brother. When he got to the address his brother had given him, he got quite a surprise. What happened next? One night as she slept in her usual spot, she remembered the childhood story of the troll who lived under the bridge. That was her alright. She had her cart and her set of blankets perpetually stashed under a bridge. She discovered it one night when she was trying to avoid the rain and she'd kept there ever since. A cop had once come up to her and asked her to move and she kindly began to pack up her stuff before he had a change of heart.

She remembered that the troll used to eat the goats that would pass the bridge. All the passed on the bridge were cars that from time to time would wake her up. She didn't want to eat any goats, she just wanted to make it to the next day. What are some of the other places she has set up camp aside from under the bridge?

If she was going to be on the streets, she was happy to be on the streets in a place where people would share their booze with her. They didn't all directly share it, of course, she would hunt around for cups of half-finished beer and would snatch it before their waiters could in the outdoor seating areas of restaurants.

The most exciting event she'd ever experienced was when the local baseball team made it to the World Series and everybody was going crazy. She hung around outside a pretty raucous bar and someone actually bought a bottle of champagne for her. That was a crazy night and she could barely even stumble the next day.

Those were the kind of nights she missed before she lost her home and money. What role did alcohol play in her becoming homeless? People would ask him all the time if he used to be that guy on the television.