Penzance

The narrator is in Exeter Bus station waiting for 2 road buddies to return...

Penzance
Penance
Pen, can, pan, nape, cape, pane, cane.
An
A.

Words I can get out of Penzance.
That's about it.
Pea. As in pea-picking. No, not peas, daffs. We're going to Cornwall to pick daffs. Well me anyhow. Terry and Scouser Steve said they would meet me back here in half and hour.

That was a couple of hours ago. The last bus to Penzance has left. That doesn't matter because we're thumbing it. Though I felt more than a bit forlorn when it backed out of the bus stance and drove around the corner and left me standing here. With seventy four
Pence.

I knew I'd find one more word.

That and Pee. Which I need to do now. Maybe I can get away with a strip-wash in the toilets.

Doubt it.

Better go anyway. I can study the graffiti. If those two show up they can wait.

Still no sign of them. The bus stations almost deserted now. Only a tiny dribble of local services. And a drabble of locals returning home.

I could start walking. Ask for the Exeter roundabout. There won't be a Penzance one, it's too far away. Maybe there's a roundabout with a turning going to Plymouth or a service station a couple of miles down the road where I can pick up a lorry.

She doesn't have a clue does she, bless her.

It's dark. It's going to pour with rain any minute now.

Hey, they did say the Bus Station, not the train Station.

Has Exeter got two bus stations?

I could always go back the way I came. To South London, where it all went wrong for me but I think that's a bad idea.

Daff-picking might be alright. Terry says if you do warm-up exercises first then you don't get a sore back. And you give your back a standing-up massage every twenty minutes.

I'd get a cup of tea but the cafe's shut. And it's probably a pound, not seventy-four pence.

That old man lying on the bench with his two-litre bottle tried to beg off me. 'Spare a little change please.' I should have asked him if he could spare a little cider please.

Maybe I could try begging too. Try that wee gaggle of noisy teenagers at bus stance seven; but I'm scared of them.

It's bucketing down now. What about food? Where do they throw out from the caff? Hah! Look no further, right on the bench, half a can of coke and some nice cold chips with red sauce. Any fag ends floating in the coke? No it looks alright.

That's better. That's put new life into me! Let's make a rollie. Could do the rounds for ends though I think that younger bloke got most of them earlier.

Coke, chips, smoke.
Peace. Yes another word I've found.

Could I get away with sleeping here? Do they shut the sheltered bit? A sleeping bag would come in handy.

Bit early to settle down.

I've got a twenty and a ten. Could blow them in the phone box but who could I phone.

Best save it for a rainy day, (ha ha irony.)

Face facts hen, yer homeless, yer skint, yer a long way fae Scotland, yer jacket's not waterproof, yer trainers leak and and you don't know what the hell you're doing.

...and I suppose the Z is totally unusable too.