~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Generous Tom~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tom, a homeless guy found a squashed loaf in the supermarket bin and quickly popped it into his sack. Mick, the miserable, saw him do it and muscled his way towards him.
“ Hey! You ought to share your findins.”
“Righto,” Tom said, “Eight slices for you and eight for me, that’ll be fair don’t ya think?”
Mick hobbled away, the light began to fade as he found a comfortable spot in the chemist shop doorway. He rolled out his tatty, grey army blanket and brought out of the deep pocket in his old coat a full bottle of Tawney Port.
“Tom don’t need to know I’ve got you for company me old darling” and he munched some slices of bread taking a generous slug out of his bottle.
Tom made himself comfortable in the bus shelter, wrapping his old blanket tightly around him after devouring some of the bread that he had smeared with vegemite for flavour. The aroma drifted, because an old dog came sniffing around, but the food was safe under the blanket so he walked over toward Mike.
Tom drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt of happier times when he had lived in comfort with his wife and two children. The children had grown up and moved overseas, but his wife died- cancer eight years ago.
There was no home life, so bit by bit, he fell on hard times. He was rather shy and never asked for help, although he was always there for others, if they need anything. He could not manage his money and would give it away to unreliable folk who never bothered to pay him back. He was a soft touch.
Somehow, it turned out that when he became homeless, nobody wanted to know him. The name Generous Tom was the name they called him, but Tom didn’t know.
When Tom woke, his tummy was grumbling, so he wandered to the back of the fish shop, where in a bin, he found half a packet of cold chips and some flat lemon squash.
“My lucky day” and he pulled some thistles out of the footpath.
He went back to the bus shelter. It was still chilly
“My lucky day,” as he wandered back to his warm place only to find Mike sprawled on the bench snoring. The empty wine bottle was slowly rolling with the morning breeze into the gutter.
“Oh well, I had better wash and see what I can find.”
In the park, he washed his face and beard and combed his hair with an almost toothless comb.
With few coins in his pocket from can collecting the previous day, he went into the bus station. At the counter, he counted some coins for a cup of hot coffee. His watery blue eyes looked fondly at the hot pies. He did not have enough, so he picked up his coffee and walked slowly to a corner table.
He had just sat down when a boy came over.
“Did you forget your pie mister?”
I know Americans **** vegemite but it is definitely a concentrated Australian flavour. Recommend you rub it on bait when you fish