Wednesday was one of those beautiful autumn days Melbourne specializes in. Sunny with a slight chill in the air that sparkles on the skin like cool champagne sparkles on the tongue. In the Sunflower field by the railway lines, the three homeless men were sitting outside the tent having yarn in the sun. At my station the trees were bright with birdsong and the (Australian native) noisy mynahs were out in force, beating up impertinent top knot pigeons and squabbling over squashed jelly snakes. Someone had thrown a loaf of bread still in its plastic bag onto the tracks and a neat circle of four mynahs had formed around it As I watched, the one standing in the middle leaned over and with the flourish of someone instructing a class, pulled a crust out of a hole in the bag.