The other day I found a bum doing an incredibly odd thing.  He was reading.  That’s right, he was sitting at a fountain in Trastevere reading a newspaper.  His white hair looked like a mess of cotton batting tied down with a band of ribbon.  His clothes were worn beyond repair.  And despite the whiteness of his hair, he was definitely far from clean; the half-moons of his fingernails were blackened with dirt and his skin was almost grey with grim.  But in his hands he held the morning’s news and on his nose were a pair of elegant glasses.  His action of reading seemed entirely contrary to his appearance.

 Yet, I guess that just goes to show again that you cannot judge a book by its cover.  We don’t tend to think of homeless people as educated  Perhpas we hope to supress our own guilty feelings by hoping that an education has not made them aware to what lengths they have fallen in society.