[EN] Poverty

I met poverty once. He didn't look at me at first.
He looked at my shoes, then moved his eyes to his feet.
He had none.
Then he looked at me in the eyes. No. Not to the eyes but in the eyes and he didn't look confused or confused me. He asked for a seat next to mine.
I refused.
He didn't ask for a seat next to mine.
He simply came closer to my seat and expected an invitation.
I looked at the book I was reading, ignoring him. But poverty was still there. So I moved myself to the right, and let poverty set its body next to mine. And he didn't move for a while.
He was cold.
I could feel it. I had a blanket. I hid it. I didn't want to share it with him. The room filled itself with a nasty odour. I knew it was him. It had to be him. so I looked at the window, continued reading my book, and left poverty sitting next to me. And a couple of minutes later poverty left the train. Only then did I realize that I had untied shoes and the smell that disgusted me hadn't left. For it was not a scent.
Just an idea.

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