The streets dirty them until they grey with the buildings. Pavements.

‘Can you spare any change please?’

‘Who?’

‘What?’

He can’t be speaking to me. Must be that woman with the posh coat in front. I’m sure she’s minted. 

Me? I just have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and a belly that never growls.

Her! Yes, yes her. She can help. 

Ask her. Go on!

Stop. 

Just stop. I don’t like they way you’re looking at me.

It’s not my fault. Is it?

It’s not my problem.