It's been sixteen years that are gone forever, and I'll never have again.
Groovy! I get to make a repost - and here it is...

I arrived in Manchester to study at a pretend University in mid-1990. On (I think) my second day in town I was strolling down the main road (Oxford Road) when I was approached by a well-dressed man of early middle years.
"'scuse me, son?" He asked politely, so I 'scused him. "I wonder if you can help me. God forgive me, I'm trying to get to the men's hostel in Wythenshawe and I've not got my fare for the bus and, God forgive me, I was wondering if..."
Well, undoubtedly you can see where this was going. The upshot was that I was pretty callow and naive at the time so he got some cash out of me. I wised up pretty sharply when two days later, I was walking down Oxford Road again when he came up to me: "'Scuse me son, God forgive me, I'm trying..."

As time went by I realised that this man and a compatriot would walk down opposite sides of Oxford Road, accosting everyone who passed with the tale that, God forgive them, they'd lost their fare to the men's hostel in Wythenshawe and could they be spared some change? This went on for the entire five years I lived in Manchester. A couple of times a week, "'scuse me son..."
You know how it goes. Sometimes they got some money out of me if I was feeling flush, sometimes not. I learned the location of a Mens Hostel which was literally a hundred yards from Oxford Road and went through a period of directing them to it with all appearence of helpful cheer and goodwill, saving them the trouble of getting to Wythenshawe. They didn't like that much, because apparently the central Manchester hostel didn't have the right facilities. Perhaps the pool wasn't of the right quality, or the central Manchester hostel didn't give complimentary chocolates in the rooms and Wythenshawe did. I don't know.
The most striking thing about this bloke was that he didn't give any appearence of being your average homeless man. Whilst not smart, he certainly wasn't a bum, either. He plainly took care of himself; shirt and tie, personal hygeine, he made an effort, which was enough to at least predispose me to listen and sympathise and occasionally cough up.
I did wish he'd occasionally use a different story, though.

Eventually I left Manchester. A couple of weeks before I left, I had been walking through town in a pretty poor mood for lady-related reasons when: "'scuse me, son, God forgive me, but...". I turned to him and replied:
"Look, you've been trying to get to the mens hostel in Wythenshawe for five years. I really think you could have walked it by now."
And then I left town. I thought that was that.

Thirteen years later I was staying in a central Manchester hotel whilst up there to see chums and on Saturday morning I took a walk down Oxford Road to the Manchester Museum, one of my favourite places. As I was walking, a familiar figure approached me.
"'scuse me, mate? God forgive me, but I'm trying to get to the mens hostel in Wythenshawe..."
I was so shocked I put my hand in my pocket gave him a quid.
Subsequent to this, though, I've been thinking. I'm now fascinated by this man, and what his story must be. He's spent at least sixteen years walking up and down Oxford Road in Manchester, asking people for money to get to Wythenshawe. What could make someone think that this is a good way to spend all that time? I stop and think about the thimgs I've done since 1990. I've got a degree. I've started my own company. I've seen the view from the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, the Temple of the Jaguar and the Space needle. I've seen attack ships in flames off the shoulder of Orion and T-beams glitter at the Tannhauser gate...
In the same period this guy, come all weathers, has been hanging around outside Whitworth Park pretending he wants to go to Wythenshawe. Is there a good living to be made on Oxford Road panhandling from students? Or is he on day-release from a local Sanitorium and knows nothing else? Or is he a tragic figure like King Pellinore or Sisyphus, doomed by the gods ever to quest for the mens hostel in Wythenshawe but never to find it?
I think the next time he collars me, probably in 2022 the way things are going, I'm going to offer to buy him a drink and ask him his story.
(davywavy, Mon 6 Jul 2009, 10:54, 3 replies)

I almost shed a tear
Laughing at the genius of the last paragraph of that text.

Well worth the click.
(lochii, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 2:34, closed)

I thank you kindly.
(davywavy, Tue 7 Jul 2009, 10:40, closed)

Sauce?
"I've seen attack ships in flames off the shoulder of Orion and T-beams glitter at the Tannhauser gate..."

Sounds like something I'd want to read.
(Scritty Bakerman., Thu 9 Jul 2009, 1:06, closed)