This is a work of fiction, a short story of 1670 words.
Steve liked to sit in the gap at the side of the steps. The spot gave him some protection from the wind, and the slight overhang above kept off the worst of the rain too. People hurried back and forth to and from this access to the bridge, and paid him no heed. The police rarely appeared, and it seemed that there was nobody to complain about him sleeping there. A small opening under the old stone steps provided the perfect place for him to store his sheets of cardboard, and the rolled-up sleeping bag. For almost a year now, this had been his small oasis, in a city full of rough sleepers. The sound of the traffic on the bridge above lulled him to sleep, and the subdued lighting along the riverside path was not too intrusive.
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