phil
Phil is a big man and he sings in a soft baritone and stands astride a small tin begging dish that shows the disinterest of passing traffic, it’s empty. Phil wears a pair of spaceship goggles that means he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye, like me, and here I am standing in his face and saying hullo.
He’s from Melbourne, he wears multi-coloured socks, all he owns is packed in plastic bags which are stacked by the nearest bus stop, he is clean-shaven and clear-spoken.
He doesn’t need me.
But I need him.
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petebowes.com 
In Goodna, they have a new thing that I am used to, but not. Africans in a group on the vacant land behind the shopping centre. They have been moved on countless times. In Western Australia, I cannot remember the litter. They are aware of me as I am aware of them. No words spoken.