As the train pulled into the Perth station, I watched the young man before me walk past our carriage door and ahead to the door in the next carriage. I realised that if he exited at that door, the would alight at the foot of the escalator and beat the exiting commuter squeeze. I followed.

Day 5 of the Australian Writers’ Centre MOJO Month was on my mind. ‘Do something special and unexpected for someone else.’ I had decided to buy a coffee for one of the homeless people that inhabited the train station concourse and Perth Cultural Centre.

Past the boutique street food vendors at the Yagan Centre, up another flight of stairs and through the gaps in traffic on the Horseshoe Bridge, I entered the Alice in Wonderland feel of the urban garden. Perfectly manicured squares of lawn; lemon, lime and native trees; rosemary, fennel and lavender; were just some of the sights and smells that now adorned this once derelict area.

A man sat on a bench under a tree casually eating fruit, whilst a woman sat at one of the iron tables writing notes in her journal. Two men in wheelchairs and their carers enjoyed a coffee in the middle of the garden whilst another group of skinny males, garnished in dirty jeans and black windcheaters, hands shaking as they tried to hold their take away coffee cups, tried to light the cigarette stubs in their hands.

But no homeless person skirted the boundaries. No pieces of cardboard with hand written words in black marking pen; no empty hats on the ground; no shopping trolleys filled with plastic bags containing personal treasures. Today wasn’t looking like the day for my random act of kindness.

I ventured over to the coffee carriage. A group of high school students in black and red blazers sat in the fake grass area adorned with hand made planter boxes and secondhand tables and chairs. Two men were caught in an awkward embrace, seemingly unsure of whether they were friends or foe, but extracted themselves with the words, “I love you man.”

Whilst standing in the warmth of the early morning sun peering over the man made swamp behind me, I ordered my latte and chatted with the barista about why I was in Perth and the creativity of the students at the local TAFE College.

Coffee in hand we wished each other a great day and it was then that I  noticed a woman sitting next to her trolley at the side of the Art Gallery. She was scrunched over a book, pencil in hand. I had seen her before. She was rolling a cigarette. I walked over.

“Hello, I see you every time I come into the city. You have the perfect spot here to catch the morning sun. Would you like a coffee?”

A wrinkled face with smoke stained teeth looked up at me, her fingers suspended in the air mid way in her cigarette making operation. “Yes, but I’ve just had one.”

I looked at the white empty mug beside her. “Would you like another one?”

“No thank you.”

“Okay, have a lovely day.”

“You too.”

I walked away, mission not accomplished, but I noticed a lightness in my heart that hadn’t been there before. I crossed the concrete pedestrian bridge, expecting to see more of the ‘regulars’ but found no one so I entered the automatic doors of the Citiplace Community Centre and the meeting I was there to attend.

Three hours later I emerged and walked through the train station, across another concrete bridge to the Myer and through the Forrest Place complex. Building renovations had been underway in this area for months. Pedestrians were routed through boarded up tunnels with painted illusory mirrors and swirling flowers. Renovations over, I now walked through ultra clean glass lined walkways with brass bollards and marble floors, not a speck of grime in sight. Dirty concrete stairwells had been removed; access to designer label clothing boutiques taunted passersby; and lounge areas with free ‘buy for your body shape’ workshops had appeared.

I walked to the Hay Street Mall to buy a recommended book from Dymocks and followed the business crowd thronging into the ENEX Food Court to see if I could buy something small to quell my growling stomach,

Women in tight fitting black skirts and jackets; metro men in body hugging shirts, dapper shoes and thin legged trousers; and round, ruddy faced men with shirts bulging at the waistline; sat at every table talking business and eating vast platefuls of food. I perched on a plastic stool at a thin plastic bench and ate two Vietnamese rice paper rolls filled mostly with lettuce and noodles, accompanied by a shiny brown sauce, plum, I assume.

Back in the sunshine, I commenced my return journey to the train station. As I walked across the Myer overpass, I noticed a coiled up figure hiding behind a shabby piece of cardboard with the usual black writing scrawled across in fine print. Long stringy blonde hair hung like rats’ tails over his face. Thin arms and legs made little impression under the lightweight long sleeved t shirt and trousers that hung on his body. His hardened feet were bare.

I tried to walk past but couldn’t ignore the impulse to approach him. I turned around and bent down.

“Hello, do you drink coffee?” I asked.

A thin, grey face punctuated by even greyer teeth looked at me. “Yes,” he replied.

“Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.”

“What would you like? Latte? Capuccino?”

“Latte please.”

“And how many sugars do you like?” I was expecting him to say ‘3 or 4’.

“Oh, just a quarter of a teaspoon.”

“Okay, and would you like something to eat?”

“Er, no thank you.”

“Are you sure? It’s not a problem.”

“No, I’m fine thankyou. Just a coffee would be great.”

I purchased a large latte from the cafe next door, and as he was talking with someone when I returned, I unobtrusively placed it and some extra sugar by his side. Before walking away I noticed a woman filming him from across the walkway.

I have made comment on the inside out dynamics of this experience, and the profound impact it has had on my deepening into Possibility, on my FB page, Possibility Psychology.