We walked past the chap in Elizabeth Street as if it were a performance piece. Was he for real? It didn’t matter so much either way, he was gotten by without too much trouble. Full stretch, with nothing under his head. A trembling hand covered his eyes, some small tattoo marks showing, possibly on the fingers. Shaking more than trembling, as were his feet. Was he actually begging, for coin? There didn’t seem to be a receptacle provided. There were all kinds of postures among the men and women along Swanston & Elizabeth, many of them striking, impossible to ignore even for the most hardened hearts. More striking many of the beggars than beautiful women, fancy cars or the window displays. Beautiful young Asians predominated along those streets in an array of dress, often simple, but strongly alluring. Half a century ago their mothers & grandmothers had appeared in newsreels hardly distinguishable from each other, just as our drab new Slav immigrants had been, lacking any kind of feminine adornment. At Brunetti’s in Flinders Lane the ladies were more polished and Turtle and some of the other ambulant beggars managed exchanges almost like passing the time of day.
Turtle
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