The two youths huddled over the old woman lying on the cold dirty concrete of the dimly lit railway platform.  Their accomplice lurked by the entrance, ready to raise the alarm if anyone came close. 

 

Her agonised breath whistled through her ill-fitting teeth as she cradled her right arm in her left hand.  She could feel that it had broken when the gang had wrenched her handbag from her grasp.  The blood seeped from the wound in her head, pooling on the gravel.

 

Their excitement as they rummaged through the contents of the shabby old bag was obvious.  The weasel faced youth's smile widened as he snatched at the brown plastic purse.

 

'How much is in there?' asked the kid with the sparse black moustache.

 

Weasel's face dropped.  'Only twenty bucks and a bit of change,' he grumbled.  'What do you reckon that watch is worth?'  His petulant lip mirrored his mate's expression.

 

Their concern was not for the suffering of their victim, but that they may have gone to all this trouble for nothing.

 

'Dunno, but she's got a gold necklace here that she's just picked up from Zamels.  $150 it says on the docket.'

 

'And here's a Multi-rider plus, that'll come in handy - it's hardly used.  We'll take that as well.  All these old photos though, just rubbish.  Who wants photos of ancient old buggers anyway, chuck them out.'  A confetti of photo fragments drifted down onto the train tracks.

 

A tear escaped her rheumy old eye and trickled down a wrinkled cheek, unnoticed by the cause of her distress.  Those photos were all she had left of her Jack, dead these last fifteen years.

 

'Keep her pension card, Shazza should be able to use it, and that video library card, we could get some free videos with that.  Hey, those tablets look interesting.  Take them to Den.  He'll give us something for them.  I wonder what's wrong with her?'

 

'Who cares?  Think she might die without them?'

 

'Yeah, hope so, then she can't identify us!'

 

Weasel's face jumped as a low call came from the archway.  'Look, you two, leave the old bitch and let's get out of here!' 

 

She lay alone on the dirty old platform, the helpless tears flowing as she gathered her empty bag to herself, and the pounding footsteps faded into the night.