The unknown homeless man and the Mayor of Martin Place

AS HE shuffled past the alleyway he’d slept in the past few nights, he carefully kept his head down and averted his gaze lest he scare any of the businessman still heading home late from the office. It had been a good while since he had showered last and even he had to admit, compared to when he worked in one of those tall towers in Sydney’s CBD, he did look fairly unkempt and maybe even scary now. He wondered for the umpteenth time what old him would think if he could go back and tell himself, that he would end up one of those men he used to look at with a mixture of disdain and pity, wrapped in a dose of self-righteousness.

He wasn’t sleeping in that alley again, although it had been fine for the first three nights, last night he woke up to three drunks pissing on him and laughing.

When he protested, one of them kicked him in the head and then they all spat on him repeatedly, yelling at him as they ran off to “get a fucking job you loser, what’s wrong with ya…”.

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