Out in the Cold

Forgive me, my brothers, for once again straying. But it was not my fault. They have stripped me and abused me and taken the only thing of value I possess. Shame overcomes me and I shake as I tell you, my brothers but I am now off-line. Oh cruel, cruel. And those nasty Virgin people cannot come till next Tuesday, O my brothers and only friends, I am forced to make a life for myself in that nasty and cruel Outside World.

I dragged myself into the heartless High Street, wincing against the snow, rags on my back, my stomach empty, my soul barren, and crawled up the steps of the Dispensary. I begged them to take pity and asked if they could spare some vitalls and some cutter. They got the supervisor: She was harsh and cruel, Readers:
"Look Mrs Smith," the old bag said, " I have told you, you need to book in advance for a terminal. And you are not Alex de Large, you are not dressed in rags and my colleague saw you stuffing a Big Mac by the river an hour ago, you greedy cow!" I shivered and begged for mercy. And assured her, tho' my skirt was from Gerry Weber, it was purchased in a sale. She was unimpressed. She heartlessly continued:

"And incidentally, it is 27 degrees outside and we are a public library. If you call us the St Vincents Dispensary again, the council will sue! You are not Frank McCourt and this is not Angela's Ashes - which by the way, I think is very overrated!"
Not enough bodice ripping in it for you? I suggested meekly.
She went a funny colour. And really, such a barrage of bad language followed. And from a Vicar's wife too!
You see the conditions I have to put up with.

My life is like a large and open void. I am friendless, fruitless, miserable. And I've only got an hour on here! And most painful and humiliating of all is that I can't bloody smoke! Oh my brothers..........