Before getting on the train I bummed around Melbourne for a while, then went and waited in the cafe on the concourse at the station and read. There was a man sitting near me, I don't know if he was waiting for a train but he had staked out his terriitory in the cafe with a bag and scattering of newspapers. While I was there he sat and read the newspapers, cutting out articles with a pair of scissors. I didn't get close enough to see what sort of articles they were. He was also talking loudly to himself. The funny thing was he didn't have any obvious signs of mental illness. He spoke clearly and he didn't look like he had Down's Syndrome. But he sat and talked forcefully to someone who wasn't there. It wasn't ranting, either, but a definate conversation, as if he was revising something he'd said to someone in the past, or was practicing something he was going to say in the future. Or maybe he was talking to someone he wanted to be there.