There is a man living inside. He is homeless. His mattress is there and a shopping cart with the few items he owns. Sometimes he is sleeping, today he was drinking beer. It is always a bit smelly in there. I don’t mind.
Even on a day like today, when it is sunny outside, he stays in. I can understand that. It is tough to be out on the streets when you are homeless and it must be tempting to just stay where you are when you are in a safe and dry place. It must be odd though, to live under a cash machine and hear the sound of money coming out of a slot all day long.
He never asks for money. I never give him any. But I always say hello when I come in and look him in the eye.