remote cards

At a glance you would say they were feral teens, the papers full of news about just how bad these kids with the track suits and hair cuts and arrogant swaggers are. They shout at the man that is lying on the ground on front of them in Buchanan Street. Waving their arms wildly in his face to get a response. Clapping their hands, shouting – mate? You ok mate? You all right? Can you hear us? Is their something wrong? He is a big man, laid out flat, I’d guess he was homeless – from the layers of clothing, the hood up, the blackened, dirt encrusted fists crossed over his chest. You would perhaps guess that he was sleeping, laid out like that, I’ve seen it done before. But its only 6pm on a holiday Sunday evening in May, the sun is shining. Can someone get an ambulance, one of the boys shouts. The man hasn’t moved or reacted in the time its taken for all this to happen. The crowd grows as adults join the hubbub, deciding the best course of action. Getting further up the street I can still hear the echoing of someone clapping in his face to see if they can wake him.

Labels: ambulance, feral, glasgow, homeless, teens