The thriftshop

A young boy without fate

"It was a cold night in August 1864 I first saw her" he humbled himself. "At that time I didn't know that she were becoming my only willing to live" he stared out of the old and dirty window and a sunstroke crossed his eye. Without even blinking, the man kept on staring at the busy street. The window didn't have any type of airtightness, so I'm sure you could feel the warm summer wind if you stood their. "I only needed a place to stay over the night, it was cold you know" he tried to convince himself. "All the hostels had thrown me out, even those in downtown had heard all the rumours" he said quietly. "You know - I did know that I was addicted, I just couldn't help my self; and neither did they" he moved his eyes from the busy streets down to the cold and dark floor. It creaked in the floor as he moved to the table with his arms behind his body.
"But thanks to this old lady-" he looked around in the almost dilapidated house. "-I could sleep like baby again" he laughed as he moved to one of the shelf's. He started to sort the books by their colours. The shelf's were clean compared to the rest of the house. The walls were wood but were hidden by a dark blue, more like navy blue painting. The floor were dirty concrete which probably hadn't been cleaned in years. He had a lot of weird and strange things exhibited in large tables in hope that somebody would buy it. He had pearls, not real of course, rusty spare pants, a broken watch and lots of used makeup placed on a glued serving tray made of aluminium. On the walls hanged ugly paintings of landscapes and animals. Most of the stuff was taken from garbage cans thrown by rich, while some of it was purchased for a cheap money on garage sales.
"Would you like a cop of tea maybe?" The man asked suddenly. "Of course you would like a cop of tea, everybody wants a cop of tea in this cold weather" the same man answered in the same sentence while he rushed to the kitchen. The kitchen was nothing more than a stone oven and a fridge as high as a chair. Of course he had some drawers and cabinets, but nothing special.
He climbed on one of the cabinets to reach a drawer in the roof. You could see his legs shaking when he stood their almost begging to get the tea box down.
"Almost there" he cried when his fingertips touched the end of the box making it tip over and falling down on the floor. He scratched down from the cabinet and all down to the floor picking all the teabags up. He grabbed his teapot and filled it with water from the sink in the toilet. It only took a few minutes for the water to be hot and in the meantime the man found two dusty tea cups and a serving tray with leftovers of jams on. The shaking hands made it almost impossible for the man to fill the cups, but with a little luck he made it without spitting.
He went back to the table and sat down. He blew in his tea as he looked out of the window. He tasted gently on it, afraid of being burned. The other tea cup, on the other hand, was never drunk, not even tasted.