So today I had a humungous meal with a few friends. We nearly died eating it all.
Eventually, we gave up and asked for a doggybag to give to a homeless man. To be honest, the unfinished dish looked a bit meh by the end. We'd picked out all the meat and there was nothing left but haw fun.
"Where do we find a homeless man?" I ask.
Janet replies: "Oh there's one in Leicester Square station!" as if she notes down the whereabouts of each.
When we got there, he'd left, probably to bum around some place else. There was one outside the theatre. He sat there in a sleeping bag, with his hood up. What puzzled me was that he was reading a book.
We were a bit wary of him. He had shifty eyes.
Wandi and I walked up to him and I asked if he was hungry.
"Oh, I don't accept food that isn't wrapped," he said, almost turning his nose up.
"...Oh. Right. OK. Well then."
Janet ended up taking it home. Whether she eats it or not is a different question, but even a homeless man didn't want the food.