The Big Issue seller at Liverpool One is confined to a black mat, with BIG NORTH written in bold white print that denotes he must sell there.

    He holds the magazines in his right hand, the other is fixed inside his dirty jeans pocket, while his eyes are fixed on the doors of New Look, where a procession of tanned girls enter and exit with several bags full of discounted branded holiday clothes and tubes of sunscreen or tan-me-quick lotion. Each one of them shifts their eyes to focus on the next destination where their money will be spent. The Big Issue seller tentatively raises the magazines as if a day of “no thanks” or “I’ve no change” limits his efforts to make money.

    The black mat is a considerable distance away from the New Look entrance, making contact as effective as shouting to a friend on the opposite platform as a freight train speeds past. He has his back to Starbucks where bright young things leisurely drink expensive high in fat coffees and chat to their friends, boyfriends, girlfriends or relatives. Each pays no mind to the Big Issue seller.

     A woman taps her Cricket designer bag with her foot and laughs about her holiday in Cyprus, while a young man with spiky hair and tight jeans opens his Apple Macbook, shifting his latte foam cup with the cardboard ring away from the expensive hardware. The Big Issue seller navigates his confined space and sighs; looking down at the 13 or so magazines he has yet to sell.

    A shopper is on course to meet the homeless tout and nears his black mat. He raises his magazines in a glorious display of hope.

   “Big Issue please, miss?” he says. The shopper, a woman, purses her lips and continues on to Urban Outfitters with not one word to acknowledge him.

   I watch the homeless man for a while longer and watch the passers-by pass by, some shaking their heads and some ignoring his request before moving toward him, hand in pocket as he turns to face me, a relieved gleam in his eye. I take my hand out of my pocket and veered to the left, in the direction of Cult, being careful not to make eye contact again.

    I had no change.