I was going in to Liverpool Lime Street station to see somebody off on their train when I happened upon one of the many drunks/druggies that frequent that part of Liverpool because of the rich pickings from robbing or begging.
He was sitting on a step, head rolled forward between his knees with drool gently leaving his mouth and splashing over the empty can of Special Brew that was sitting on its side immediately under his face. For a few seconds I thought he was dead, he was so still. As I got near he was obviously breathing, and I thought it best not to disturb him.
A “You ok mate?” said to a drunk/druggie can very often be responded to with abuse, so it’s just not worth it. Worse still, they start talking at you, especially the female ones, loudly ranting about nothing, usually making no sense, and won’t let you go until they’ve finished, which is never, or you’ve given them money.
As I passed, I could see that hanging out of his pocket, far more out than in, was a Merseyside Police Prisoner’s Personal Property clear see-through plastic bag about an A5 size, with, well, I’d guess, his personal property inside. He’d obviously spent some time in a cell for whatever reason, and upon release had not actually stopped to empty the bag into wherever he’d normally keep his personal property, but had chosen to head straight to his dealer and a booze seller in order to get so completely smashed that he could sit all alone on a step drooling inbetween his legs.
Whilst I was in the station it started pouring down with rain. When I left after about 10 minutes, he had gone.
However, he’d left behind the Prisoner’s Property bag and some other paperwork that had obviously also fallen out of his pocket. It was soaking wet, but I stopped to take a look at it, using my foot to move the contents around inside to try to make out what was there. I could see a couple of keys and paper hankies and chewing gum, and not a lot else.
For a moment I thought about doing the good citizen bit and handing it in to the police. Then I thought, ‘Fuck it’ and walked on.
The warm and fuzzy side of me reasoned that he’d retrace his steps and come back for it himself. He certainly wouldn’t go visiting a police station to see if it had been handed in, let alone make any sense once he got there.
The other side of me was angry. I could see no purpose for his existence. He’d obviously cost time and money over his arrest. There’d probably also been a victim, hence his arrest. Usually, for every victim these types are arrested for, there are 30 other victims they are not caught for.
Fuck it. Why should I put myself out for him when he’d obviously never put himself out for a living soul? In fact, how dare he exist!
I considered for a while the pointlessness of his existence. I wanted a ‘delete’ button. Simple and uncomplicated. A button I could press that would just ‘delete’ him from existence. Maybe it would ‘delete’ him so he’d never actually been born. Maybe it would ‘delete’ him so he just disappeared forever. I didn’t care, I just wanted a ‘delete’ button. I rationally wanted to ‘delete’ him forever and in such a way that nobody cared or missed him.
I didn’t want to rehabilitate him, give him a second (or, more likely, fifty-second) chance, I just wanted him gone.
I use the delete button a lot when writing. Sometimes I write a sentence that doesn’t fit. Then I delete it. It’s gone forever, it wasn’t important, and it is forgotten about forever. There’s no issues or problems with deleting it.
With these pointless people, it should be as simple as deleting a wrong word or sentence, surely? I mean, it’s not as if we are in desperate need of people, we are an over-crowded island with far too many people.
So, there needs to be a delete button so’s we can rid our society of the scummy people that only seem to be there to make more of us victims, or to deliberately cost us more money and effort than they are worth.