With every gust, cold air blows into the bedsit. The flame of the candle flickers no matter how she tries to protect it. She finishes her knock-off Cup-a-Soup. She wants another but she’d better ration. It’s that time of the month when she’s out of money, out of electricity and almost out of food.
Last winter, she spent her evenings in the library. They didn’t mind that she came for warmth. But there were more cuts and now the library closes early.
A vicious draught extinguishes the flame. She sits in the dark until the cold forces her to bed.