Zero to the Left


Sat at the bus stop, not going anywhere, bushy beard and sodden socks in leaking shoes, persistent drizzle drifting in his face. The orderly queue, suits and boots, brollies and the softly bullying body language that ignores those in need.

The smell of Hugo Boss wafting over the silent smell of homeless desperation, those who count; one who does not. Nothing to count, no wealth, nor friends or social standing, no social currency to exchange, no point to his existence, zeros to the left, the failure of socialism, wealth leans to the right, no decimal point to mark the faction or the fraction, the smallest need, ignored by the greatest greed.

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