"Are you OK?" I kept saying it over and over. He was so blue. I rang 000. I always imagined I would be good in an emergency and so I was. I answered clearly and followed every direction. "You need to roll him over," the woman on the phone told me. "You need to check if he has vomit in his mouth." I rolled him over. The man's lips were as blue as the sky. His face was twisted in pain. His eyes were without life.

"You need to check his mouth," I was instructed. "He's so blue," I whispered. I was no longer holding it together and my tears poured on to the man's face. I gently opened his mouth, but it was a feeble attempt. He was long gone.

There was a quiet moment when there were just the two of us. Me on my knees with my hand on his arm; him on his back staring blankly up to the sky. I wondered when someone had last cried for this dear man. Did he have a child? Were his parents still alive? I wished I knew a prayer, but all I had for him were my tears.

The police arrived and other homeless people in the area started to stir. A white sheet was placed over the man. The police asked me some questions and got me to check the time of the call I made to 000. It was 7.07am.

Life before 7.07am was different. I had been hurrying to work, worrying about a task I had to finish and an appointment later in the day to get a visa for a holiday. I was embarrassed by the trivial things that had been occupying my mind while a man lay dead on the ground.