“I’m definitely going to lie to my children about my inheritance,” I overhear a thirtysomething finance bro in designer sunglasses say while sitting on the grass in St James’s Square one hot, bright lunchtime in early July. Later that night, just after 11pm on Charing Cross Road, I listen as a homeless man with a face of tattoos turns to his friend and asks, “Have you got 10 pence, mate? I’ve been out three hours . . . someone gave me a loaf of bread, mate, f*** that.”
“我肯定会对我的孩子撒谎，说我的遗产情况。”7月初一个炎热明亮的午间，我坐在圣詹姆斯广场(St James’s Square)的草地上，听到一位三十来岁、戴着名牌墨镜的金融从业者这么说。当天深夜，在查令十字路(Charing Cross Road)上，差不多是晚上11点过后，我又听到一名脸上布满纹身的无家可归者转向他的朋友问：“伙计，你有10便士吗？我已经在外面待了三个小时……有人给了我一条面包，伙计，去他的。”
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