The young Russian, who had ended up on the shores of Algarve,
was drunk, poor and miserable. He offered people to help unload
trolleys into cars, few wanted him to do so as he was a big man
and looked threatening. Cold shoulders of contempt, yes he did
noticed it ok and every arrow of rejection found its mark.
He approached me I gave him enough money to buy a litre of
wine. A litre of wine would bring some relief he would be able to
sleep for a few hours, but knew he would wake up at dawn, feel
wretched and ashamed full of hopelessness and thinking how to
escape this misery that only drink could assuage for a few hours.
Once I was drunk, skint and far from home, I went into a church
for warmth, found a big money note on the floor I put it in
the collection box and cursed. F**k it I could not take the note
back it would look like a theft. I don’t know what I feared the most
stealing or being caught stealing. The day after I got a job, no it
didn’t make me religious, but it made me appreciate the element
of luck in life.