Emigration

NO PETS - NO COLOUREDS - NO IRISH
I read the sign again, thinking that I must be imagining it, but no.
With a sigh, I turned away from the dosshouse.
Taking out my pen, I crossed the advert off in my newspaper and walked away. That had been my last possibility, and the night was drawing in. It’d been a long and painful journey and I had nothing to show for it.
I’d be sleeping under a bush, again.
London was a strange place, so different from my home town. The people here talked funny and no one seemed to smile.