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Personal Narrative-The Homeless

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went down to the kitchen, took off my nightdress, which was hideous and sticky with our bloods, and bundled it under the sink. Then in the dim light from the landing (I wanted no light now) I found my toilet bag, took out a flannel, and washed myself in the sink. Then I put on my clothes again. I was quite calm still, but I knew I had done something unusual and I knew I could not go back to my parents’ home again. I remember wondering where poor mad Lucia had stabbed her husband. I repacked my suitcase. The handle was sticky, so I washed it clean. In the hall it was lighter. On an impulse I went into the dining room and pressed the button on the television. The picture was of naked bodies, writhing together, so I switched it off.…show more content…
No visual record of my existence. They talked to them, talked to neighbors who had seen me in the garden, talked to members of the Congregation. I think they quite soon understood the situation. They realized I had nobody to go to, no place I knew where I could find refuge. They were used to the problem of homelessness. They knew I would be sleeping rough. I greatly enjoyed those weeks, most of the time. When I left the house in Mafek- ing Terrace I walked through the night, following signs toward the center. I had read Oliver Twist and I knew that London, real London not suburbia, was the place to lose yourself in. As light came up I often stopped to look in shopwindows, notic- ing prices. Later I would linger by shops with televisions on in the window, seeing the shadows of the world on the dancing screens. But now I too was in the world. Sometimes, where there were seats, I rested, watching the world go by. How I gravitated to a place where there were others like me, people with no homes and no futures, I don’t remember. But I recall a man sitting with me on a bench somewhere, very shabby and kind, and telling me that under the
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