The coffee was bitter and burnt. Jackson almost spat the first sip onto the pavement. He considered going back and speaking to the barista; seven dollars for this was absurd and he doubted the beans were even fairtrade. But then, that was what he got for going to a café only two doors down from a Big W. There was a bin nearby. He made to head towards it, then he saw the woman. She was picking through cigarette butts ground out on the metal top of the bin. Her hair was straggly and dirty, her face all hard lines,…