He turned around in the queue in Mc Donagh’s restaurant. He was looking forward to his usual fish chips and mushy peas especially on a day when the north wind whistled up Shop Street. His wife, as usual, only wanted a portion of fish, no chips. Her health consciousness however would not stop her raiding his generous portion.
As he scanned the Saturday horde shuffling past each other on the narrow cobbled street he noticed the man sitting outside an empty shop doorway on the opposite side of the street. He squatted on his haunches, head down, an old cap laid out in front of him to capture any generosity from the passers-by. His overlong grey hair tumbled around without the restraint of the cap to hold it in place against the swirling wind. Fingerless gloves held a square piece of cardboard in front of him. The message, in neat print, informed those who might care to look that he was homeless and was trying to get together the price of a hostel bed for that night.
He ordered an extra portion of what he was having and went outside.
“Here you are. This might fill a space for a while.”
The old man looked up, grey blue eyes fixed on his benefactor. He grabbed the greaseproof paper wrapped meal and put it behind the cardboard message board and proceeded to unwrap it with one hand, the other holding the cardboard square as a screen to those passing. He bent down and stuffed some chips into his mouth.
“Thank you very much. I haven’t had a thing to eat today. This will set me up nicely.”
The man standing over him could not refrain from asking him why he was hiding the food behind the cardboard.
“You can’t afford to give the impression that you are okay. It makes it easier for people to ignore you.”
“How in the name of God could someone sitting on cold street eating fish and chips out of paper be considered okay?”
The old man swallowed his latest mouthful.
“There’s different rules for the likes of me. Half the people think if they give me money I will drink it. I wouldn’t mind but it’s nearly a year since a drop of alcohol has passed my lips. Hardly anybody stops to talk for a minute so I’m glad you did. It’s very easy, in my state, to be completely alone in the middle of all these people. Anyway, I’d better finish this before it goes cold. Thanks again but if you move on it will give someone else a chance to be dacent.”
The other man smiled at the gentle rebuke, and with a shake of his head, turned back to his more predictable lunch.
Excerpt from Homeless not Hopeless by Bill Griffin
The Scribbler Griffin 