Blueprint For Buggies Free

Heathrow to Liverpool Street

I think I get older. Because that just past midnight, my eyes begin to close and my bed is my biggest obsession. That said, it is often difficult to escape, when our friends a lot more energetic, shout proudly that the night has just begun. The night is young, and so are we ... they say. That's good. But I want to go to bed.

I fake a pass to the bathroom urgently, I carry my bag and I sneak away. I often say this little comedy to the next recurring unease. Saturday night.

Once outside, the cold penetrates my skin to my bones. It is -6 degrees. Little important. It is so cold that a few degrees more and less could make a difference.

I want a taxi. But the holiday season combined with the fact that it's Saturday making the impossible mission. In my dress inappropriately for this time of year, I tremble and I pray for a miracle to happen so I can go home. Thirty minutes pass

and I'm still here, still, frozen, trembling, ridiculous, on a cross street that seems completely helpless. No cars, no sign of life, not even a sound.

I want to call a taxi, but my phone's battery dies to join the slumber of the city. My feet hurt, I take off my shoes. So much for my tights.

More minutes pass and I begin to despair. And between the box back to join my friends in another world and contemplate the void, I choose the second choice.

I make a prayer opportunist - I do not pray when it is an emergency - for an angel appears ... in a black cab.

And out of nowhere a voice I am expecting more out of my distress.

was that of a man who was passing. I sighed with a knowing smile that included all that my chances of finding a taxi where I was completely void. He invited me to walk with him to a street which - according to him - was full of taxis.

Follow this stranger in the middle of the night in a deserted city and scantily clad fell obviously madness. But I had no choice. And I had sore feet.

I followed. He spoke. I do not listen. He laughed. I do not understand. I was scared. And I always had sore feet.

few meters later, I discovered the secret location of the taxi on Saturday night. He wished me good night. And he disappeared he had appeared as subtly. It helped me like that. By pure altruism. Without asking my name, phone number, my address. Without even the slightest expect thanks. My angel from Liverpool Street. ©