Friday 14 October 2011

GONE FERAL by C.A. JONES

I suppose Dean and could be said to have 'gone feral' in a lot of ways. The last eleven or twelve years have taught me just how thin a veneer our 'civilisation' is. Now I never sit with my back to a window or door, I wear Doc Martins so I can always run. I carry everything important in pockets, bags may have to be dumped. 


And though it only happened a couple of times it could happen to anyone at any time. What do people do about this state of affairs? Do they acknowledge it? Do people take precautions? No. They act like herds of Wildebeest - every so often one of them gets picked off, and after a slight feeling of disturbance and fear, everyone goes right back to grazing. 


Women go out, late at night wearing ridiculously high heels. If someone attacks them how are they going to get away? If I go out at night, I take Dean and hold my bunch of keys in my fist with the longest one pointing out through my fingers, to stab any would-be attackers in the eye with. and to strengthen my punch. I wear Doc Martins boots, at least to and from the venue or restaurant, put the heels on when you get there. 


Of course, I am a member of the underclass, being on Incapacity Benefit, so the police are of no use to me. In fact, quite the opposite, as I found more than once. Corrupt or incompetent is the default setting for the filth.


What I learned is that you are ON YOUR OWN!!!  


   

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