I am a tramp, a rambler rambling streets to find work or a bite to eat. I have all the time I need, no need to be somewhere fast, to be somewhere yesterday. I see many things and it isn’t always easy to see the good. I scribble this blog, go to a library for the internet and warmth and publish, hoping somebody somewhere will read me, make a small donation. Sometimes my hopes are forlorn and I ask myself what’s the point? Even if I love writing, I need writing, is it worth it if the message falls on deaf ears, blind eyes? And then the other day a miracle, a new radio left by my makeshift pillow when I woke up. Was this a donation or has somebody somewhere read that my radio was stolen? If it is the latter, then that’s the miracle that does three things: helps to keep me sane, makes me believe it is worth writing, and restores my faith in the human race. So here is the good, where I can listen to my programmes, my football and my Formula One, yet leads me to the evil…
I am a tramp, a rambler rambling streets to find work or a bite to eat. I have all the time I need, no need to be somewhere fast, to be somewhere yesterday. I see many things and it isn’t always easy to see the good. I am on a main street somewhere
and see a man in a Land Rover stop at the lights. He looks pale as he grips the wheel. He clutches his arm and slumps to his left. He is having a heart attack. I rush to his aid, try to open his door but it won’t move, it’s locked from the inside. I call to passers-by, some of whom come to help. Someone phones for an ambulance… The queue of cars is building. The first in the queue stops politely, compassionately, the second inquisitively, the third impatient, the fourth and onwards downright rude, beeping their horns, shouting. I go down the line to explain what happened. A driver says “For fuck’s sake! and tries to do a three-point-turn. He is angry and I tell him I’m sorry that someone dying is such an inconvenience. He tells me to fuck off and threatens to punch me for being sarky, then drives furiously the other way, the wrong way down a one way street because he needs to be somewhere fast.
I am a tramp, a rambler rambling streets, seeing the good and seeing the evil, seeing the selfless and seeing the selfish. And when I see the selfish I am glad to be a tramp, alone in my world where I have no need to be somewhere fast, to be somewhere yesterday. I am glad to be in my world where somebody’s life is worth more than the need to be somewhere else fast, to be somewhere yesterday.