I stepped onto the tube train. He sat in the centre of the empty carriage spreading himself out lethargically. Was this a normal posture I wondered. He was not dirty or untidily dressed but I sensed a discrepancy. His face was a little red and his smile a little self centred. He sat up straight and I believed he was in fact a respectable citizen who had now composed himself after a moment of relapse. He leaned over to his backpack between his legs and retrieved a tin of strong lager. I realised he was not the conformist I had believed. He cracked the can and brought it slowly to his pouting lips. He sucked in his first draft and lowered the drink. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was comfortable and warm in company with a drink. Now I remembered him. I had seen him walking along the towpath carrying two large plastic bags. I had given a nod of greeting but he had turned away with a desperately tortured expression. His homeless plight rang out. Now on the underground he dissimulated as a member of society. Maybe an alcoholic breaking regulations but not apparently homeless. The tell-tale bags were now secreted in the undergrowth. He drank again and breathed deeply. He was content.