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I was still sleeping at the post office loading dock in Dunwoody at this time, and it was still the same routine every morning, with the arrival of the cleaner at four-thirty in the morning acting as my que to get up.This was also when I started to direct comments at the post office cleaner.I would lift my head up wearily from my sleeping bag and say “ Hey ! what the fuck are you getting up so early for, are you fucking mad ? ”, or something like “ Hey matie, get them mother fuckers in the post office to clean up their own fucking mess, its four-thirty in the morning for christ sake ! ”.

Continued :

These comments went on for a good few weeks, to which he never made any reply.However, he did, on one occasion, make a b-line for me ( frustration colliding ) , and instead of the normal fifty yards between us it became about ten yards, with him deciding, only at the very last moment, to turn back away from me, almost certainly assuming that I was some sort of psycho.My attitude to this was that if I had to get up so early in the morning to earn next to fucking nothing, somebody else, outside of myself, was going to feel the anger of my frustration.

Even after arising and dusting off the cobwebs I would still remain in a highly agitated state.The walk from where I was to the subway station was about five minutes, which was a walk that I embarked on to the sound of my own loud, angry voice and even following the boarding of the train this mumbling aloud would continue, with, sure enough, there being next to nobody around to hear me, as it was five in the morning afterfuckingall, but as the train gradually filled up this talking would cease.The talking would stop, but the anger and frustration never receded.