Few things make me more furious than inexplicable inequality.

I don’t mind a bit of prejudice where it makes sense. But inexplicable inequality is a sign of ignorance and needs to be quashed. And so, journalistic spirit brimming and forming a pool in the back of my mouth, I set off to discover why there are no Asian homeless people.

Luckily my local village is awash with homeless; I was spoiled for choice.

There’s the one that sits outside the 7-eleven. I hate him because:

• He sits and watches you go in to said 7-eleven, order something, pay with a note, get coins for the difference between the total purchase price of your items and the cash you handed over, then asks like a smug cunt as you leave the store “got any change”.
• He’s too young. Early 20’s or something. All homeless people should be older than me.
• He shaves more often than me.

So fuck him.

Then there’s Sneezy, a dwarf like man with a giant red lump with nostrils in the middle of his face. He’s the quintessential homeless man: raggedy clothes, musky stench, wine bottle in paper bag at all times. And he doesn’t want my change (I applaud financial independence in the destitute). But I walk past him every day; the last thing I need is another friend.

So I choose The Yipper. This one has something wrong with his brain that manifests in him yelping every minute. You know the chirps that prairie dogs do? It’s like just one of those, really really loudly, every minute. You can hear him from blocks away. So I triangulate The Yipper and sit down for a series of 59 second chats.

It was a bust. After the first YIP my ears rang for most of the 59 second intermission, and as my hearing returned I was busy thinking about how to spell tinnitus so I could Google it when I got home to see if I’d done any permanent damage. The second YIP caught me by surprise. Like an unsure teenage pot smoker, I thought I had weed in my pants. This man was not the font of information I was hoping for. I thanked him for his time, he YIPPED farewell, and we parted company.

The hunt went on, from homeless man to homeless man, searching for either the answer to why there are no Asian homeless men, or an Asian homeless man that would negate the question.

I never did find out, but I learned something else. Homeless people are so boring. They have, like, zero conversational skills and a really limited range of topics. Change, cigarettes, bus fares, that’s about it. So there’s a shitty ending for you.

I’m still worried about the tinnitus so I’ve broken off a length of ChapStick® in each ear. Strawberry flavour in the left and original in the right and I swear I walk in a slight curve to the left now.