Whatever it is

Hera.

“Newspapers, get your newspapers at a very affordable price.”

The seller’s gruff voice echoed in the dim lit street, interrupting my sleep for the umpteenth time.

“Arghh, can you go elsewhere to sell those bloody papers, I’m trying to get some sleep, and who reads newspapers these days?” I rolled my eyes at him, irritation evident in my voice.

“Look, homeless girl, the streets belong to no one, if you’re not okay with me selling these papers, you can give me a better job.” He replied in a standoffish manner.

I raked my fingers through my hair, burying my frustration with hisses and snorts. He was right, the streets belonged to no one, except if you’re a Flemming, then you owned everything.

My stomach let out a low insistent growl, reminding me I hadn’t exactly had anything to eat since dawn. I rose from the bench I sat on, retrieved my bag and made my way to a cafe that was just right across the street.

Since I arrived in London, I’d been wandering the stre