“I’m invisible, see? One of the invisible people. Right now I’m sitting in a doorway watching the passers-by. They avoid looking at me. They’re afraid I want something they’ve got, and they’re right.”
“Also, they don’t want to think about me. They don’t like reminding I exist. Me, and those like me. We’re living proof that everything’s not all right and we make the place untidy.”
“Shelter, as in shelter from the stormy blast. It’s what they’re all seeking. The street people. What they crave. If they can only find shelter everything will be fine.”
“He’s about fifty for a start, and he’s one of these old dudes that wear cool gear and try to act young and it doesn’t work because they’ve got grey hair and fat bellies and they just make themselves pathetic.”
“It’s called making yourself homeless. And so here I am sitting in this doorway which is now my bedroom, hoping some kind of punter will give me a bit of small change so I can eat.”
“You’re leaving a place you know and heading into the unknown with nothing to protect you. No money. No prospect of work. No address where folks will make you welcome.”