I step out of Cafe Boheme.
Its funny how the homeless see the homeless.
A million people are walking by.
But I lock eyes with a wirey little man.
Macbeth when talking to the murderers to get them to kill Banquo, runs off a list of dog types to describe men.
Mongrels, spaniels, curs, water rats and demi-wolves.
He’s a water rat.
You got a pound for the homeless?
His eyes dart all over. Anywhere but into mine.
I’m homeless too, I tell him.
No probs no probs.
Where do you sleep? I ask him.
Wherever I can – buses trains.
Last night I went to Scotland.
Scotland? You serious?
Yeh. And back again.
How long did that take?
13 hours. Slept all the way.
Don’t they kick you off.
Not when they know you’re homeless. They leave you alone. You got a pound?
I give him £1.
Yeh, man. Just get on a night bus if you need to sleep. Go down to Heathrow. They run all night. Go to The Strand. N9 you want.
Yeh, no worries.
He shuffles off and asks for a pound from someone else.
Night bus to Heathrow.