If only the Christmas lights on Oxford street could fill a table with food to eat.
In the hungry days of shop doorways where some sit silently shiver violently the lines of lights light up their nights as if they need reminding that the 'morrow brings them nothing new.
Nothing to do but wait as another bus draws up and more get off to sate their appetites among the bright lights of Oxford Street.
Winter nights.
The soup run does not come never will the traders,council and the coppers think it gives bad vibes to shoppers, still it would be nice to think that homeless people get a drink of something hot.
Down Trafalgar Square there's somewhere where they can spend some time have a meal ,a shower and a crypt seems fine if a little odd for the poor sod who's only got what he's given. A new shirt and trews he's not from Scotland but beggars do not choose they accept and sometimes painfully, the helping hands from a charity.
It's such a sad affair that some don't care, don't give a look and yet think nothing of sharing pointless posts on the pages of Facebook.
Another bus drops off a few even as some drop off the grid and we bid goodnight to the rights and wrongs the Christmas songs the happy throngs and hide inside another doorway.