A change is not going to come.

‘Giz a quid’ the old woman in the spectacularly ill fitting jumper emblazoned with dogs splurts out and this dear reader is the first of many scroungers I will meet on my simple walk to work. It is getting ridiculous; it’s like playing dodgeball with scumbags. How many times have I heard ‘got any spare change?’ Well as it happens all my ‘change’ is accounted for I simply don’t have any spare because I get up every morning and go to a job I hate to earn my ‘change’ so I can spend it on things I either need or want. If you get a job instead of a smack habit you too could have your own ‘change’ which you are welcome to spend on anything you like, because that’s how it works, and then you could leave me the f*ck alone, thanks. No I don’t want to buy a DVD you swear is yours, honest, so you can get the bus back to wherever it is you cant get back to for whatever far fetched reason you drug addled mind just tried to come up with. One guy used to ask me every week for money with the same excuse of getting to somewhere about forty miles away, after the six or seventh time he asked I eventually just snapped and told him that if he had set off when he first asked me he would be there by now. He didn’t like that. But that’s ok because I didn’t like him much either.

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