I took comfort as the bag hugged itself into my gentle form, the train rocking its maternal rhythm, anchored to centuries old rails.
Upon the stairs was a small bag, not the sort to put much in, a sort of modern handbag fashioned from recycled car tyres. The zips were the brightest of purple and the long shoulder strap was perfectly black.
The plastic bag was torn, the handles were stretched from the heavy shopping that had been in it yesterday, now all it held was a spare pair of socks and a toothbrush, it was all he thought to grab before running out the already open doorway and down the cracked pavement.
Paper bag, smelt as if it once held bananas, sweet smell subtle but discernible as it mixed with the heady August heat.
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