The community meal we run in a South Melbourne church hall started with three guests, which has grown to 90, many of whom live in temporary accommodation, public housing, in their cars or on the streets. Over the last year, these folks have formed their own communities, moving to their regular spots with their dinner companions.

Those on one table share tips for rough sleeping: where the taps are, the quiet streets to park your van, where you will get moved on from. The old-timers talk to the ethereal young man with the moustache and the floral dress; they are eager with their advice and full of fatherly concern. Others discuss prison; private versus public, and stories of jailers once known. They slap the table for emphasis and the salt cellars go flying. The table of women from the local rooming house teach each other rude words in their many languages; they giggle and weep tears of laughter. They are fiercely protective of........

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