What would it be like to be a street-bound head case ? To bark at passing cars and rummage in bins for red plastic objects to put in your trolley? To half mumble, half shout spangled expletives and gems of weather wisdom at every fifth passer by?
You could live on BO and 8.6% Bavarian Super Beer. You could be the wittiest man on the corner, all day every day. You could sub let your bench to passing blind geezers, then bark madly in their ears when they relax. You could bend down to pet dogs, then turn away at the last moment and thrust your filth encrusted pelvis at their owners with a mad smile on your face.
Well, I hope never to find out, but sometimes, it looks strangely liberating…
Maybe they know something we don’t. Or maybe they just understand better than us the ridiculous predicament of human existence and all this growling, old shoe collecting and ill co-ordinated body popping is their way of dealing with it.
Do you know, I was just musing on this myself the other day.
On on hand, it’s quite depressing seeing a pissy tramp bumbling up the street clutching a can of special brew – but on the other, you’ve got to admire their care-free attitude to life.
As long as they stay out of the alcohol exclusion zones, it’s probably fair to say that members of the alcoholic vagrant community are the only people in Western society who are truly free … oh, how I envy them.
Watch out for my imminent change of career – you’re my best mate you are. Honestly – it’s not just the booze talking. I love you mate.
I reckon I could get the hang of this…
The lot that sit outside Harrow station seem to be a pretty happy lot. Taking in all colours, creeds, faiths and amputees they like nothing more than to harrangue the passing commuter with a disjointed stream of abuse. I don’t mind them so much and I think most of them have realised by now that I am quite prepared to stop and harrangue back, but the thing I don’t understand is why they don’t go round the corner when they need a piss. Honestly, man outside the station it’s covered up, reasonably warm, ideal for begging – it could be properly des-res. Instead it reeks of piss and once in a while the police have to come down and turf them out so that they go down to the bench by the church, while the industrial cleaners stop by.
As a postscript, I gave a dude napping by the department of health building a cigarette today. His little eyes lit up like a fruit machine on jackpot repeat, which reminded me that a) cigarettes are a powerful currency b) I shouldn’t smoke them, just give them away.