I'm a hard-hearted cow as a rule but I cried last night.
A man, a rough sleeper, called Chris maybe, came into Zac's Place. His mother died last week and his brother three weeks before. But that wasn't his real tragedy.
In among his ramblings he said, 'I've lost my head see, I don't know where it's gone. I think it's gone down the Vetch playing football. And I've got something missing see.' He thumped his chest. 'There's something missing from in here.'
Sean described Zac's as having 'more open wounds than a leprosy clinic.' Six months ago Chris was on the other side of the counter, tending the sick; then his life fell apart.
His story is the tragedy of too much of the world - the tragedy of loss, of missing something.
I want to write something philosophical and wise but my pen is as empty as Chris's eyes.