Harsh Reality Coat drawn tight around his shrivelled body ,Sam stood ,stooped over against the cold and shifted his weight laboriously onto his walking stick,on the rough cobbles of Swan Street. He could never understand in the naming of the street. For Swan Street commanded the mind to conjure up apparitions of upper class, clean streets and honest, smiling faces. This juxtaposes with the harsh reality of how Swan Street was the blemish on the face that was London. Where the scum of society, criminals, and beggars alike lived in squalor day after day. And how the street itself was caked in more filth then it's inhabitants. Everyone knew that any half wit who walked down Swan Street would come out the other side, wallet considerably lightened and various valuable possessions 'lost'. He looked up and was surprised to see that dusk was settling on the city like a thin blanket of snow. The wind tugged and snapped at him like an hungry beast. He glared enviously as a middle class man strutted down the street, obviously lost to be in this part of the city. The man looked at an expensive silver pocket watch and rolled his eyes in frustration. The man spotted Sam leaning against the crumbling wall and hastily approached him. Without thinking Sam dropped his scowl and exchanged it for an innocent, helpless expression.'Good evening...sir...' The man started, looking at Sam's attire with scrutinising eyes. Sam dropped his head as he looked at what he was wearing as though truly seeing it for the first time. He shuffled uncomfortably in his ancient, scuffed boots like he was under inspection. The soles were so worn out that when he walked over particularly sharp streets, it was like walking barefoot. He examined his jacket that he stole ,countless years ago, with an air of shame. He awoke out of his haze when the man spoke again. '...would you be so kind as to direct me to Bank Lane?' Sam sidled nearer, observing the man with caution but with a kind of wild hunger in his eyes like a cat eyeing it's prey. He briefly directed the man to a completely made up destination and he briskly walked off. It was now Sam's turn to examine the man's clothes. He gazed in wonder at his dark red jacket and black pointed shoes that were so polished , Sam reckoned that if he were to look close enough he would see his own face staring back at him. He let his mind drift around as he pondered on #life as a rich, young man.He had heard talk of the curious ways of the rich man. How they have strange things called 'Baths' that involved cleaning oneself with Soap. He closed his tired eyes and wondered. He imagined himself stood in front of a jewelled mirror whilst a maid helped him put on his silk-lined jacket. The material was soft and cool to the touch, it felt like refreshing rain on his skin. He looked down at the material lovingly, like it was a newborn baby. Sam surfaced from his happier #life with a start. He looked around wildly and saw that the man had walked round the corner and the silence after he had gone was deafening. He felt something cold and metal on his coarse, numb hand. He opened his hand like an how an oyster reveals a pearl. And there it was, the pearl. A silver pocket watch glinted in the moonlight above. He had always had kleptomania, the irrepressible urge to steal things whenever the opportunity arose. He had spent his #life like this, luring strangers into close range with his weak and defenceless appearance and then, when they least expect it, striking and deftly taking whatever he could get his hands on. Like how a Venus fly trap attracts insects with its alluring colours and then capturing the unprepared creature.
