Trapped like a rat or wingless bird in a cage. No one can leave this place. It is the place no one ever escapes from. I am too broken to live, alive enough to exist. I am not a man. I am the shadow of a man. In this place, I have become the eroded memory of a man. My body is worn thin with hunger, the colour of my face is washed out with disease, leaving me green and weathered and faint like an…

Out in a frost-swept city street A man stood, torn sleeping bag at his feet. With cold-reddened hands he smiled, calling “Come on, folks, only ten weeks left ’til spring.” People rushed by, deaf to his chilled cheer, Not caring he had to wait for it here, Out in the dark frost-swept street With but a torn sleeping bag at his feet.