Raven

I’ve always had an affinity for homeless people, or at least they’ve always had an affinity for me. From the time a homeless guy came and told me it was beer o’clock, to every time a crazy hobo chooses me to sit next to on the bus, I know that there is something which makes me closer to being on the streets than most people. It’s probably the furry face, or the shabby appearance, or most likely the forlorn look in my eye. Whatever it is, it’s getting worse.

The other night I was drunk on the streets, and puking on the streets, when a man from the streets came over to me to try his luck. “You got any spare change?” he asked. I had no idea if I did or not, and as my hands had been used to wipe the puke from my beard, I was loathe to jam them in my pockets and root around my unpukey stuff for some bucks. I generally give all my coins to any tramp who asks, but as I say, I was past drunk. “Come on man, not even a pound?” he begged again. “Nah man I ain’t got nothing” I said still wiping the smell from my face “You want a fag?”. He said “Yeah man safe....hey, you alright blood? .... You gonna be alright getting home?”. I mumbled something about there being a main road and wandered off, to eventually fall on my ass with my friends.

So a homeless guy asked me if I would be alright to get home. A Home-less guy asked me if I could get Home. To quote the late great Clay Davis

Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.

That was a low.