He had met Leo at the soup kitchen, and had been immediately drawn to the man; he had a nervous energy that seemed to crackle about the edges like he’d been struck by lightning. Leo was the first black man he’d ever known, and the only man who seemed not only to cope with homelessness, but to revel in it. He had raised this with Leo, who had replied that when compared to Mogadishu, anywhere else was a breeze.
It had been Leo who had suggested the hike up Mt Coot-tha, a four-hour walk from the city along a narrow twisting road where the cars blasted past inches from your arm. He could see the people in the cars staring at them, and he felt like a goldfish must feel. It made him angry. When he had asked Leo why they were risking their lives just to look at the city from a new angle, Leo had
