We hit it off, Gail and me, from the word go. She got me another coffee and we sat there talking, oblivious to everything around us. It was unbelievable. When you’re homeless and hungry you’re an outsider. Normal everyday experience doesn’t apply to you. You know – things like having a job to go to, mates to meet, a motor bike to save up for. You don’t buy CDs or get your hair cut or have dental check-ups or shop for clothes. You can’t. Your circumstances put those sorts of things beyond your reach. To all intents and purposes you belong to a separate species, and one of the hardest bits is how it cuts you off from girls. If you’re a guy, I mean. See – normally a young bloke sees a girl passing by and he’ll smile and maybe call out something to her. Chat her up a bit. It doesn’t mean anything and it won’t usually lead to anything – it’s just part of being young and on the loose if you know what I mean. And now and then – maybe one time in a hundred – it does lead to something and you’ve got a relationship which might or might not last. The important thing is that you’re part of it, right? One of the guys. Or one of the girls. But if you’re dossing, you’re not. You try chatting up a girl when you’re ragged and grimy and pasty-faced and your teeth are crummy and she knows you don’t even have the price of a coffee. No chance. Not only will you not get off with her, you won’t even get the smile. A dirty look and a wide berth’s more like it. And the same in reverse if you’re a girl, I guess. After a bit you start thinking of yourself as a different creature – a creature that lives beside ordinary people but isn’t one of them.