You see them everywhere, day or night, rain or sunshine, warm or cold. Vagrants of all shapes and sizes, some walking slowly, in no hurry to go anywhere, some scurrying along the street pushing a trolley or makeshift cart, even a white porcelain bath fitted onto the wheels of the pushcart. Mostly packed with rubbish from wherever they found it. But it is their vagrant treasure. For that moment it is their only possessions.
We don’t want them in our neighbourhoods. They bring crime and even fear to our lives, break infrastructure, litter without a thought to the consequences of all this to the environment.
Then one morning you see them sitting on heaps of wet and dirty bundles of clothes, blankets and broken pieces of old furniture in a dark subway underneath the railway line, amid the overwhelming stench of urine.
The sad and scared look on their faces passes you by as your only thoughts are on what a disgusting-looking lot they are, and you quickly turn away from the sight of them because they not only revolt you, but also frighten you!
With a nice warm cup of tea in your hand in the safety of your clean and comfortable home you start thinking of what you just saw.
Why are those vagrants where they are? How did it happen to them? How can it be human, let alone normal? Is it fair to fellow humans?
How would any of us feel living like this?
