Nicholas

A bald man approaches me in the street.  'Excuse me', he says.  I continue walking.  'I've just got out of hospital'.  I pause.  He pulls up the sleeve of his bomber jacket to show me a hospital tag.  On his left forearm is some cotton wool stuck with tape.  'I can see you're gentle', he says.  He explains that he has just been discharged and he needs sixty-four pence.  'I got stabbed', he says.  I've been in a coma for six months'.

His story seems worthy of a pound and I look in my pocket.  'Thanks, mate', he says.  'I'll give you a hundred pound if I ever see you again'.  I tell him that wouldn't be necessary but ask if I might have a middle name in return.  He leans back and smiles.  He doesn't seem to have any teeth.  'What's your name?' he asks.  I tell him.  He considers, chuckles and leans forward.  'God', he says in a hushed tone.  'Is that your middle name?' I ask.  He laughs and gives me a more plausible answer.

I thank him for his help and wish him luck.  'God bless yer', he says.