associates as Michael was waking from a deep sleep. As his eyes opened fully, he squinted against the glare of the shaft of autumn sunshine that cascaded into the room through the uncurtained window a mere three feet from the end of his bed. The room was small, dirty and unkempt and completely matched the two occupants who shared the meagre accommodation. Michael rubbed his eyes, squinted again and turned his head away from the bright rays that met his waking gaze. Instead, he looked across the room to where a second low framed bed stood. Its occupant still slept soundly and though he didn't present quite as filthy a picture as Michael, the young man who lay snoring in peaceful oblivion in the bed also resembled little more than a bundle of unwashed humanity. The single cheap blanket that served as his cover had slipped to the side revealing socks that had holes where the toes showed through, and the frayed hems of what had once been an expensive pair of jeans.
Michael had met his new flatmate a mere four weeks previously. 'Jacob' had been sleeping rough on one of the benches that lined the Brighton seafront as Michael walked home one night after one of his regular excursions to obtain the drugs that had long-ago become the sole focus of his life. At first, Michael thought the young man might prove an easy target for an opportunist theft. His head rested on a rucksack that Michael considered might contain some items of value that he could possibly sell to one of the many 'fences' who he regularly did business with. A return of less than fifteen percent of the value of his ill-gotten gains wasn't much, and he had to work hard to raise the money to fuel his ever-expanding need for drugs.
Unfortunately for him, as he approached the bench, the sleeping man began to stir so, ever the opportunist, Michael instantly changed tack. He might be a druggie, but he was an intelligent one. His brain, slowly becoming poisoned by the cocaine, still had the ability to think quickly and sum up a situation in a few seconds.
"Hey, man, you can't sleep on the benches round here. The cops will soon pick you up and treat you as a vagrant. At best you'll spend a night in the cells and at worst they'll have you up in front of the magistrate and you could end up with a fine and being run out of town."
The sleepy figure rose slowly to a sitting position as Michael appeared to tower over him.
"And why should you care what happens to me?" he asked of the man who'd disturbed his sleep.
"Look, friend, I don't like to see anyone getting into bother with the cops. That's all. I thought that maybe you're new in town and might need a few pointers. What's wrong with being friendly, eh?"
"What gives you the idea I'm new in town?"
"Hmm&maybe the rucksack is a bit of a giveaway, or the fact that you look like you need a place to stay. When did you last have a shave, man?"
"Look who's talking," the man on the bench replied. "You're not exactly Mister Clean yourself by the looks of you."
"Ah, but my appearance is all a part of my persona," Michael replied. "I look this way because I want to. You look like that because you've got nowhere to stay, am I right?"
"Yes, okay, I need a place. I haven't been here in Brighton for long, just a few days."
"And before that?"
"That's got nothing to do with you. I've admitted I need a roof, and that's all you need to know."
"Hey, calm down a bit. Like I said I'm just being friendly. Look, my name's Michael, what's yours?"
There was a slight hesitation from the young man on the bench before he replied.
"You can call me Jacob," he said.
"That's as good as anything I suppose," Michael replied, sceptically.
"It's my name!" said Jacob, defiantly.
"Yeah, sure it is. Like I say, it doesn't matter a fig to me, man, long as I've got something to call you. Now listen, how would like to have a warm bed for the night and a place to stay while you figure out what it is you want to do here in town?"
Jacob appeared
Michael had met his new flatmate a mere four weeks previously. 'Jacob' had been sleeping rough on one of the benches that lined the Brighton seafront as Michael walked home one night after one of his regular excursions to obtain the drugs that had long-ago become the sole focus of his life. At first, Michael thought the young man might prove an easy target for an opportunist theft. His head rested on a rucksack that Michael considered might contain some items of value that he could possibly sell to one of the many 'fences' who he regularly did business with. A return of less than fifteen percent of the value of his ill-gotten gains wasn't much, and he had to work hard to raise the money to fuel his ever-expanding need for drugs.
Unfortunately for him, as he approached the bench, the sleeping man began to stir so, ever the opportunist, Michael instantly changed tack. He might be a druggie, but he was an intelligent one. His brain, slowly becoming poisoned by the cocaine, still had the ability to think quickly and sum up a situation in a few seconds.
"Hey, man, you can't sleep on the benches round here. The cops will soon pick you up and treat you as a vagrant. At best you'll spend a night in the cells and at worst they'll have you up in front of the magistrate and you could end up with a fine and being run out of town."
The sleepy figure rose slowly to a sitting position as Michael appeared to tower over him.
"And why should you care what happens to me?" he asked of the man who'd disturbed his sleep.
"Look, friend, I don't like to see anyone getting into bother with the cops. That's all. I thought that maybe you're new in town and might need a few pointers. What's wrong with being friendly, eh?"
"What gives you the idea I'm new in town?"
"Hmm&maybe the rucksack is a bit of a giveaway, or the fact that you look like you need a place to stay. When did you last have a shave, man?"
"Look who's talking," the man on the bench replied. "You're not exactly Mister Clean yourself by the looks of you."
"Ah, but my appearance is all a part of my persona," Michael replied. "I look this way because I want to. You look like that because you've got nowhere to stay, am I right?"
"Yes, okay, I need a place. I haven't been here in Brighton for long, just a few days."
"And before that?"
"That's got nothing to do with you. I've admitted I need a roof, and that's all you need to know."
"Hey, calm down a bit. Like I said I'm just being friendly. Look, my name's Michael, what's yours?"
There was a slight hesitation from the young man on the bench before he replied.
"You can call me Jacob," he said.
"That's as good as anything I suppose," Michael replied, sceptically.
"It's my name!" said Jacob, defiantly.
"Yeah, sure it is. Like I say, it doesn't matter a fig to me, man, long as I've got something to call you. Now listen, how would like to have a warm bed for the night and a place to stay while you figure out what it is you want to do here in town?"
Jacob appeared
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