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He has two battered knapsacks slung over his shoulders, plastic bags hung like curtains on one arm, tattered clothing from head to toe, what looks to be the remnants of an ancient umbrella in the clutches of his other hand. I’ve seen this gentleman line up for food from local charities, seen him walk from one end of our small city to the other, watched him sit patiently on a park bench in the middle of the city centre.At times, when the weather gets too cold, in that very brief period between the close of shops in the mall and the final lockdown of the buildings, he makes his way through the glass doors and sits by the nearest air vent, calm, quiet, by himself. I don’t know his name, his story, his background, yet in my city of 350,000 people, he is as ever-present as the great House on the Hill not far from here. He is but 1 of the 105,000 Australians who sleep on the street every single night. We’re not talking about Bangladesh or India or Colombia; this is the Lucky Country, with …