Another encounter with the underbelly of my home town.
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So it seems that the only things worth writing about tend to happen to me on my way home from work. The difference with this one is that it
’s not a single, solitary event fuelling my rant but rather a constant nagging that does not seem to go away nor does my tolerance get any better with age. I’m talking about the beggars. People who beg. If there is anything more depraved, desperate, degrading, depressing and other words beginning with ‘d’ then I don’t want or need to know it. It’s not that we are overrun with these people in our vicious excuse for a town. Not like the major cities who seem to either produce or attract them like Dick Whittington to a gold pavement. We have a select number of career beggars who, due to the unfortunately small size of our town and the inconceivably central location of our home, manage to catch me at least once a day. You can imagine how this would be tiresome. When I was a younger man I will admit that I used to give them money. It wasn’t much, just the small change I had on me but it was enough to satisfy them enough to piss off and bother someone else. I suppose at the time I was naïve enough to think that I was making some sort of difference and they were only trying to get back on their feet and I was helping them achieve that. I obviously could not have been more wrong. Ten years down the line our town has swollen with retail parks, violence and an accent that becomes more incomprehensible every day until eventually it resembles nothing more than the ramblings of a depraved drunk. Take that accent and make it ask me for money every day and you can clearly see how I fell out of the innocence tree and landed in the garden of eternal cynicism (coincidentally my spiritual home).
There is one man in particular who truly doesn’t understand that leaving me alone is the best way for me to have a better day. He is a sad individual and I’m sure that those of you who have ever frequented the town centre have at some time or another fallen foul of this vicious man. Every town in the world has at least one facsimile of this character. Sometimes he will just ask you for money. A straightforward approach usually prefixed by the intolerable use of the word ‘sir’.
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