A life of sorts.

He walks up and down the main road, from an abandoned building where he has a den, muttering to himself, to where you see him now, a sort of no man's land between the chemist snd the bakery.
Local people give him money and food. Social workers regularly give him a good clean, shoes and clothing.
He walks all day with a steady, relaxed pace, this tall, broad shouldered mystery.
I thought he looked poorly today and smelled pretty bad too.
As I took the blip I was afraid he might sense my presence and turn around suddenly. Luckily he didn't.
Why is that people know that I am looking at them when they can't even see me?