Reflections #47

As for what happened in my poem 'The Welsh brothers', I guess I'd already had it pretty lucky living on the streets compared to some others, and it all could have been a lot worse.

This bloke was a nasty piece of work though, piercing eyes and a really abusive side to him. Obviously that changed when someone his own size came along, my friend Martin, the card-boy.
I doubt their both even alive anymore their heroin addiction was so bad. I did see them around twelve years ago whilst I was passing through London and they both looked like they were on their last legs.

I always gathered that their actions against me were spur of the moment, but I've never thought until now that they were most probably in the subway pre-planning in after spotting a young lad like me had been pitching up regularly on Piccadilly.

I'm glad how it all turned out though, I can only imagine how different it would have turned out if I had a weapon on me to use in self-defense, I would have been facing a manslaughter or murder charge because I too was once one of those young kids that didn't think before many of their actions, or genuinely saw someone as a threat to their life.

So things didn't turn out too bad in the end, once Martin had chased him off with the glass bottle they didn't stop to bother me again.

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