Ricky was telling a story. “I found one of them rummaging through my bin… it must have been Tuesday evening.”

“No!” Kate was suitably shocked. “Right up to the back door and everything?” She took a long drag from her cigarette.

“Well, no, it was collection day, so it was outside the gate. I was taking a bag out and there he was, lifting the bags out and looking through them. He looked at me. I handed him the bag. He went through that one, too. Tidied up after himself, though.”

“What was he after? No, don’t answer that.” Kate stubbed out her cigarette and took a swig from her glass to wash away the imagined taste of three-day old stir-fry.

Ricky had reached the end of his story. “He had his dog with him and everything. It’s the aggressive ones that bother me. I don’t mind them sitting there and asking but when they actually walk up to you... I find it very intimidating. I mean, do they think they’ll have more luck that way?”

“It must be terrible. Living like that. All those hundreds of people just walking past.”

“Not all of them do it that way. There’s this one who walks up and down St Andrews Street. One day he said he needed a couple of quid for his train fare back to Manchester. The next he’d had his wallet stolen and needed to make a phone call.”

Dave couldn’t stand it any longer. He hadn’t made a contribution to the conversation for virtually a whole minute. He jumped in. “I guess he missed his train, then. Didn’t he?”

“I said, you’re story’s getting better...”

“That was a bad move. Actually talking to one of them.” Dave was an expert on most things.

“He’d obviously put some thought into it.”

“You gave him something! You did, didn’t you? Three cheers for Mr Liberal. Jesus, Ricky, if you give to one you have to give to all of them. He’ll keep on getting better and better at that story. Next time you come along he’ll think, there’s that sucker I got last week. And he’ll go to work on you again. You’re taking their side against ours.”

“There aren’t any sides in this.”

“Oh yes, there are. Yes there are. It’s them against society.”

It was developing into a verbal fistfight. Kate knew unless she told her story now, she might never get the chance. “There was a pair of them, together, behind the new bookshop the other day. They had their dogs with them. It is so intimidating.”

“Did they threaten you?” Ricky never missed a chance to express sympathy for Kate although it had never got him anywhere.

“They didn’t even talk to me. I got across that road so fast you could see the dust. It’s like; a woman on her own. Two men with dogs. I was lucky if it was only my spare change they wanted.”

Dave thought this proved his point. “And what do the police do? Absolutely sweet fuck all. Cambridge is a soft touch for them.”

Ricky protested. “Come on, Dave.”

Dave started wagging his finger. “No, it’s an established fact. They even asked some of them. Cambridge has a high tolerance and a high population of half-arsed liberals like you and they flock here like flies to shit. Have you heard the accents? They come from all over the shop.”

Kate had another example. “There’s this one who’s always by the bridge on Jesus Green. He must be retarded or something. He just goes, Uh. Uh. With his hand held out. It’s so pathetic; I go the long way around just to avoid him. Shouldn’t he be in a mental home? Or something?”

Dave wasn’t convinced. “How do you know he’s for real?”

“Oh, he can’t be faking it.”

“Why not? That’s right across the street from the DSS isn’t it? I bet he can talk when it’s time to sign on. Uh, uh becomes gimme, gimme.”

“They can’t live that way by choice, Dave,” Ricky said.

“Oh, can’t they? Most of them want to be homeless. That’s another proven fact! It’s just too much like hard work to be decent members of society. They don’t want a job. They just get that dole check, suck it up in a syringe and pump it into a vein. Then some tolerant sitting duck like Ricky here comes along, chucks away a couple of quid because they’re good liars and then they can shove that up their arm, too.”

“People blame drugs for everything. If they were alcoholics they’d be just as homeless. We all drink. We’re drinking here. It could get out of hand and it wouldn’t be by choice if we ended up like them.”

“We wouldn’t end up like them, Ricky, and you know it. We earn our money. We save some for old age or a rainy day. We pay our mortgages and spend a little of what’s left of our money on the o... drink to relax. Which we deserve since we work for a living, rather than beg and steal for it. Heroin. White Lightning. Same difference. Guzzle it down. Throw up. Pass out.”

“White Lightning?” Kate didn’t get the reference.

“It’s this cider they buy, Kate.” Ricky enlightened her. Trying to change the subject, if only slightly. “Twice as strong as beer. Really, really cheap. We used to drink it when I was at school. It made me so sick...”

“You didn’t curl up in a shop window with your bony dog afterwards, did you?”

“What is it with them and dogs?” Kate wasn’t interested in Ricky’s schooldays.

So much for changing the subject. “Extra body heat, I guess. Plus some company. I know what you’re going to say, Dave. Yes, sympathy too.”

“So it’s handout, beg, dog meat, drugs, bad cider, fags, another handout. What a fucking life. What do they contribute to society? They don’t work. They don’t pay tax. They don’t feel the need to follow society’s rules except when it’s time for a freebie and then the world owes them a living. I say, let’s build a nice big oven behind that dole office. Tell them there’s free cider inside, form an orderly queue. Do it at night so no one will see the smoke. Who’d notice? I’m serious.”

“Christ, Dave!” Kate giggled nervously, unsure just how serious he was.

“Well, Mr Liberal, wouldn’t you be happier without the hassling, the drunk passed out in his own puke on Midsummer Common, those fucking disgusting, skinny dogs shitting on the streets? Honestly? Do you have a better idea?”

“Honestly, yes. Yes, I admit I’d be happier if they just disappeared and no, I don’t have any better ideas. The authorities must be able to do more. The current policy is to leave them where they are and pretend they don’t exist. That doesn’t help either side.”

“Ah, so you admit there are sides.”

Ricky realised he’d been preaching to the unconvertible. “It’s not my job to have better ideas.” Was Dave smirking? He was a natural born actor and it was impossible to tell if this Final Solution was the real thing or just meant to bait him. Either way, he had caught his fish. Ricky started to get up.

“Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. I always forget how sensitive you are. Don’t leave because of me. Look, I’ve offended you. I’ll leave.”

“No, Dave. I have to go anyway.” He looked at his watch. “Really. It’s late.” He turned away, then changed his mind and decided to try an exit line. “History has shown us where your path leads. I feel sorry for you.” Still preachy. It wasn’t great but it would have to do.

“...but do you feel sorry for them?” Shit. Dave had trumped him. As usual.

Would Ricky notice? Would he miss them? The constant, ”can you spare a little change sir?” The embarrassment? Planning his route to the car park just to avoid them? No, he wouldn’t. He knew that. I’m afraid of them. So was Kate. Dave wasn’t. That’s how he could be so callous. With enough practice, Ricky could become callous too.

“Can you spare a little change, sir?”

This one was a stereotype, complete with skinny dog and two litres of cider encased in blue plastic. It was a mistake to say anything at all but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything.”

“Fuck you then, mate.” There was no real venom in him. He sounded more tired than drunk. They were both playing out a scene they’d been through many times before.

Ricky walked on, actually blushing with shame. He wasn’t guilty about not giving. He felt guilty for not caring. And he only wanted to care so that he could feel better about himself. He knew there would be another three or four of them between now and his car and he dreaded it.

I want to care. I just don’t.