She trades in potential.
‘Money’s no good to me,’ she sniggers, smiling down at the bubblegum pavement, before playfully clicking chipped teeth at a space next to her rotting shoe. James said she used to have a dog, a small yappy thing with matted brown fur and one clouded eye.
I ask her what she can do for me and she smiles, digging a nicotine-stained hand into the frayed pocket of her dirty brown overcoat. I lean forward to get a better look, as close as the smell will allow. Curious.
She glances up at me through the think strands of gray wire covering her face. Hisses from her mouth. Turns her back and begins to mutter under her breath.
‘Not ready yet,’ she whispers.
I think about running. Turning on my heels and sprinting, racing back down this dark, waterlogged alley and not looking back until I am safe in my flat. But I remind myself why I am here.
James had told me to come. He told me that she had helped him. That she could help me. I lean across my desk as he packs the last of his things into a cardboard box.
‘Just go and see her,’ he smiles, before walking towards the lift.
‘And have that report on my desk by noon.’
The tramp turns back to me; her eyes wide and hungry. And she is quick, quicker than she should be. I feel her damp, rotten mouth against my shirt and scream as she clamps down on my wrist.
Last night, I had a dream. I was old; my hands were wrinkled, gray skin folding over the knuckles.
There was a woman there. She was old too; reading a book over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses, while two young children chased each other across the garden.
I lean back in my leather chair and look out from my office as dusk falls over the city.
She trades in potential.
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