I am the man in a suit. I work in and love - but can't afford to live in - Brighton and Hove, where kiss-me-quick hats and "can you spare any change, mate?" fight for supremacy in a city with a homeless problem that seems almost unstoppable.

This place doesn't have a drug culture, it's a way of life. Faceless forms in doorways sleeping in piles of cardboard or, if they're lucky, blankets. Girls who look like old ladies crouched next to cashpoint machines.

We take the money from the cashpoint machines and tell ourselves it couldn't happen to us, we're far too smart and it must be drug- related. We shake our heads at how weak people can be while taking our money and going to the nearest off-licence to buy fags and beer.

Don't panic -if we don't look, it isn't happening, is it? But reality has to hit home sooner or later and, on the way to work the morning after a night on the beer, something catches my eye on the pavement and it's not a casualty from the night before.

Kneeling down with his life in a bag to his right and a pile of cardboard to his left is a lad creating works of art that could so easily be discussed after a good meal and fine wine or catch the attention of art critics the world over.

And where does this artist live? On the street, about a foot away from where he has created his masterpieces.

In a world of pop idols, pop stars and pop rivals where we seem content to pay 20p for a phone call to vote someone in or out so we can see who will be the next Hear'Say, there are people living on the street who could brighten up our lives with their skills and works of art and have more talent than the man in the suit could ever wish for.

But the nightmare for the man in the suit isn't over because, while admiring the art, the lad looks up and catches my eye and in an instant I have a lump in my throat and a pain in my heart because I realise we are all walking the same tightrope and with one wrong move we could become a statistic open to abuse and hatred without the apparent need for an explanation.

The suit is our only difference apart from this lad's obvious talent. How is this allowed to happen? There is no justice and the man in the suit can either ignore this and have another beer to help forget or do something about it - that's why I write.

Remember, if you open your eyes and your heart, the tightrope may stay the same but the journey will hopefully be enlightening.

-Jay Westwater, Grafton Road, Worthing