just another saturday

the street urchin got his face kicked in, it seemed, by some thugs, for a rip off. i'm guessed its something like this which lead to the beating in the park. if anyone saw, no one remembers or saw a thing. and the asshole whole called 911 clearly did not see a fucking thing. and clearly does not live in the neighbourhood. or he would have known better.

the pigs came into the building. they questioned linus, the guy that guards the front desk. the pigs asked linus if he saw anything. he said he 'knew nothing about nothing' ... that's what everyone said to the pigs when they asked, i think. the pigs went upstairs to knock on some doors - maybe someone saw something. nope. hmmmm - wouldn't you know it? no one's answering. the pigs left.

but they hung around the neighbourhood for hours, i suppose. coz when i left for work they had the whole fucking park yellow-taped off. all because some street urchin got a bleeding face from some beating he sustained when he was fucking already high and strung out on some crack or crystal meth or whatever shit he was frying in his pipe.

all that fuss over a street urchin who likely ripped of his thug dealers, somehow. y'know those street urchins would sell their mothers to get high? truly they would, without a thought, or even a pang of guilt. this .... desperate and degrading behaviour, courtesy of drug prohibition. any junkie knows that restricting the supply of the addictive substance does NOTHING to reduce deviant addictive behaviour. in fact, it just provokes deviance.

when someone has you in a stranglehold, and you cannot breathe, do you suddenly try to find ways to survive with less oxygen? NOPE. you kick and gouge and flail and fight to the death to get that airway back. and so it is here. junkie must survive. drug = survival. survival means @ all cost. the end.

life's like that.