It was rough in the streets. Headlights like markers highlighting the incessant drizzle while rats scuttled away from the noise of screeching tyres and car horns and the smell of burning fuel. Dirt-smeared and cold-chapped fingers finding solace in the crackling sound of a dumpster fire. Hair-framed lips almost touching wool-domed heads. Gloved-hands shaking gloveless hands. An outsider crossing this street might almost be frightened by this spectacle. But really, they’d be watching just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.