Sometimes I feel like I’m taking up too much of the pavement, and I make myself even smaller, pulling my holey jumper down over my knees and lacing my fingers tighter around my legs.
I try to be invisible even though I’m screaming to be seen.
I watch feet; I study shoes. Stomping brogues, clip-clopping heels, delicate sandals, cowboy boots, little girls’ T-bars, skyscraper stilettos, boys’ tatty trainers, sensible-for-work flats and flip-flops in the rain all pass me by.
This time it’s a pair of smart knee-highs that knock my nearly-empty, polystyrene cup of pennies flying…and yes, I am invisible.