Melbourne's Swanston Street comes and goes.
Office workers, tourists and shoppers are hurrying and rarely look up around.
But those who look around may catch a glimpse of Alex Wilkinson..
The 27-year-old sat patiently on an orange milk box, smiling at himself and waiting.
In front of him was a small table on which there was a Adler Tippa typewriter and a handwritten, colourful sign:
"pick a theme, pick a price, get a poem."
The British backpacker is there almost every day. He made a living by peddling poetry to passers-by.
"my satisfaction with life is high." He said。
"Don't get me wrong, it's hard to make a living. It's not a stable job, it can't bring a steady income. Every day I don't know what's going to happen, so I come to work every day. "
But his pleasure in interacting with those who stopped to buy poetry far outweighed the steady income from the job of the salesman he had abandoned.
"before that, I gave up two or three minutes of work, because my heart didn't belong there."
But this job is different.
"I love this job, it makes me so happy." He said。
"my interaction with people, and the impact of my work on them, is a very special job."
Wilkinson's American girlfriend, Kelsy, came up with the idea of writing poems for strangers on the street.
They wandered through Chapel Street's bazaar and found the 60-year-old typewriter and suggested career changes.
"I laughed at the idea at first." He said。
"it sounds good, but it's hard to make a living."
"so I did some research and found that I could make enough money to survive."
The price of the poem is set by the customer.
At most one customer gave him A $100, a lovely man who stopped every day to talk to him.
"there is a tacit understanding between us. I'm not sure if he really saw the poem and thought it was worth 100. I think he just wanted to help me. I appreciate it. "
This is not the only special thing Wilkinson has encountered in the street.
He once wrote a poem for a deaf and blind woman who spoke to him through an interpreter from Auslan Translation.
That day the lady's brother was in a serious car accident. Soon after he died, and Wilkinson's poem was read aloud at his funeral, he called it an honor.
He also went to a party to work for a man with fatal cancer. The man called all his relatives and friends to enjoy his favorite things, including his favorite beer.
Each party guest spent five minutes with Wilkinson, telling them about his relationship with the man, and by the end of the party they had received a collection of poems about the man's most important relationship in his life.
"it really touched me to know that I could use simple and pleasant words to help others relieve some pain, or to give people some happiness."
Wilkinson has been in Melbourne for six months and remains in Melbourne for 50 days before leaving for the north.
Every weekday he goes from noon to night in front of Swanston Street's City Hall, and on weekends he sits outside the National Gallery of Victoria, from noon to around 05:30 in the evening.