i walked passed an old woman today, hands outstretched holding a battered paper cup. the few coins inside jingled as she shook the cup, wanting people to pay attention. please do you have some change, she said in broken english, please, can you help me. the years that passed her by left lines carved into her face, the time weighed down her back, she stood hunched, with help of a crutch fitted not quite for her body. forgotten by society, forgotten by her own people, her existence means absolutely nothing.

she stood on one of the busiest streets in manhattan, in the shadow of stores that emphasised the status of people rather than the quality of their goods. she stood there, no one saw her. but i did. i wondered what her story was. her accent remincient of eastern europe. i wondered whether she was from a war-torn yugoslavia, or some part of the now forgotten former soviet union. maybe she didn't have astory...maybe she was begging becuase this was her job...her "9 to 5". i wondered all these things and i passed her, glancing back over my shoulder and hyearing her soft voice...please can you help me.