Sunday, October 10, 2004

Where are their house keys?

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Somebody called Moyra Peralta has put up a 'gritty' exposition of the pitiful state of London's homeless in the form of a photo essay that displays the contents of a number of homeless peoples' pockets and bags.

Personally, I don't buy it for a second as the contents look far too sanitised but maybe the Moyra worked on a different part of London to what I'm accustomed to, or maybe the real hardcore scummers turned her down. Judge for yourself ...
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I am particularly familiar with the contents of London's homeless' peoples pockets because an assortment of junkies have taken to shooting up outside my bedroom window over the last few months. I now have the pleasure of cleaning up their discarded drug paraphenalia plus occasional turds or discarded and soiled undergarments every week or so. I made the great mistake some time ago of not giving a pair of them a hard time when I caught them slurping crack outside my bedroom window. I clearly demonstrated that I am a soft touch and now all their friends come to play in the veritable safe haven that is the front of my flat.
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Thanks to my tolerant approach I am cheerfully looking forward to the day when one of them decides that there might be something worth stealing and swopping for heroin on the other side of my bedroom window. Unsurprisingly, to me at least, the homeless people having such a good time taking drugs and crapping on my doorstep are educated and apparently middle class; social exclusion has got nothing to do with their predicament. They just like crack and heroin to the exclusion of everything else.
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For a taste of the kind of pleasures they bring into my life hit the link below and scroll about 70% down the page ...
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