Locks

I recently found a safe place to sleep, for now. A room with a roof and a door and a key and a lock. I felt relieved. Then (and I swear this is life trying to teach me something) the lock inexplicably broke. I got it fixed but I don’t like sleeping in an unlocked room. Funny that, considering that I spent countless nights sleeping in the ultimate unlocked room. Outside.
Then I went to the toilet in my favourite pub last night. As I shut the door, much to my dismay, the handle fell off. Inside and outside. Instead of being locked out (as usual) I was locked in. Oh the irony.
Us outsiders, we are always either locked out or in. As awful as being on the streets was, I would always pick that over prison. I was chatting to a friend the other day, whose brother is in the nick. He’s worried. British jails are flooded with drugs. It’s the same as being on the streets, an outdoor prison. It is beyond easy to score drugs in Ilford. You can do it from right outside the police station. I never touched them when I was on the streets but I’ve seen people smoking crack pipes, yards from Her Majesty’s Constabulary. If you cracked open a can of lager, they would confiscate it, if they saw you. If you cracked open two, they would arrest you. But they let people take the hard stuff, crack, smack and Spice, on the streets and in prisons. Don’t you think that’s strange, given that they NEVER miss a trick. Just another dead junkie, eh? Some would say genocidal. Either way, I prefer being locked out to being locked in.

London feels like a prison now. So does Britain, since Brexit and the rise of the right. After I left my local I popped into Wetherspoons. Architects of Brexit, they don’t let homeless people use their toilets. Even before I was made homeless myself I used to nick their ketchup and give it to homeless people. Call it my little rebellion.

Anyway last night I got chatting to these three Russians. I used to love London’s diversity but seriously if there is one country more fucked up than America in this world, its Russia. The men, in particular, love the muscle flexing of Putin. It’s beyond childish that international politics has been reduced to the comparative strength of handshakes of Putin, Trump and Macron. We are being ‘led” by small boys. Oh and don’t forget that witch in Westminster.

Anyway one of the three decided to reveal himself as a bona fide Nazi. He picked up on the fact that I’m not that way inclined. He told me of how he believes gay men and lesbians should be gassed. Laughed as he described what he believes is the impending fate of black and asian people and how, he is quite sure, these people have ruined Britain.

I listened imperviously, smiling politely. Once upon a time I would have told him to f*ck off. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of attempting to kick my head in. He wouldn’t have anyway. Like most Nazis, he’s all bluff and bluster. But what’s the point? He’s evil. I know it. But seriously he’s an amateur compared to some I have come up against. And it really is laughable. Like Theresa May and Donald Trump and his beloved Putin, he thinks he’s winning. He thinks he’s taking the p*ss out of us. But one day, he will die. As we all will and he will go somewhere else. And I very much believe that me and him are heading in opposite directions. And should that be the case, I will be surprised if he’s laughing then. Choosing evil is really fucking dumb lol.
I couldn’t afford it but I’d missed my last bus so I had to grab a taxi. As I got in, I was told to pay the fare up front. Now, that’s just a short way of someone calling you a thief. I’d experienced it too many times when I looked REALLY grubby on the streets. A security guard in Sainsbury’s banned me from even looking at their shitty merchandise. I wasn’t even allowed to glance in the direction of their nasty pasties. I never shoplifted. Anyway, suffice to say, the driver didn’t get a tip. And acknowledging my own hypocrisy, I have just admitted that I did steal ketchup from Wetherspoons and gave it to homeless people. And mint sauce. And mango chutney. Oh well, if you’re gonna steal, be Robin Hood. 😉

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