Standing outside Eastbourne station. It’s about half past eight. People get into taxis, the taxis drive away, new taxis pull in to take their places. A guy in a white shirt, late teens or early twenties with gel in his hair, walks up to the leading taxi. He looks at me as he opens the door. Are you a tramp? I don’t say anything. I just look at him. He says it again. My rucksack is standing next to me and I haven’t had a shave for a few days. Are you a tramp? Another guy, same age, also in a white shirt and also with gelled hair, joins him. The new one glares at me then they both get into the taxi and it drives off.