remote cards

Two guys and a woman swagger down the street. The two guys in sleeveless t-shirts - its been a warm day. They have that air to them, that says they would cause trouble at the best of times. They have that air to them that says they’ve been drinking. The taller guy is the more threatening - a base ball cap, base ball shoes, stamping on the ground, talking loudly, his gait that of someone looking for a fight. There is a plastic bottle of water on the ground, half full, he takes a good swing and kicks it hard, so that when it lands it does so with a hearty thump. The two policemen in their bright yellow jackets stop and turn around. They watch the guy continue to roll down the street. The senior of the two gives a nod, and the two policemen approach the trio. The big guy sees this and puts off the next kick, instead bending to pick up the bottle, announcing loudly that he is just going to put it in the bin, walking by the police as though they couldn’t possibly be wanting to talk to him. But they persist, so he turns, and in doing so, I can see for the first time that he only has 1 arm, the other a stump below the shoulder. But his body language remains aggressive even if is placatory enough that they are allowed to walk away, though the police watch every step, waiting for him to act up again.

Update. It’s about a week later the next time I see the one armed guy. He is taking on the role of the homeless man, whether he is or isn’t I can’t say. He is obviously part of one of the groups of these people you see. He sits by one of those concrete posts in the pedestrian part of the street, which don’t seem to serve any apparent purpose. He leans his back against the pillar, sat cross legged, again a sleeveless t-shirt to emphasize his body – shouting at people that pass for money, waving that stump around in an exaggerated, look at me, look at me fashion. A couple of feet in front of him the rest of the group sit on one of the street benches, black metal bars welded into shape. There are about four of them, all scruffy and ragged, like most of the homeless you see in the city. When there are no people passing he chatters with them, as though they are taking turns – its his shift to collect money, while they put their feet up and chew the fat.

Labels: beggar, drunk, glasgow, homeless, one arm, police, streets

Outside. He staggers along the street. With that unsteady, likely to fall over in a moment style of the terribly drink, drugged or homeless. She is in better condition, just about, grim, blonde hair, tugged back beneath a white base ball cap, denim blue jacket over pink blouse top. She takes the back of his neck in one hand - pins him - holds him still, takes him in a strangle hold with her other hand, full of threat. Talks to him firmly, fiercely. Free again he rests his head and elbows on a street bin, that comes up to mid-chest level. She wanders off, before coming back to drag him after, reluctant and so hard done by. They come back, later, going the other direction, her carrying a bag of chips, folded white paper, unwrapped like a junk food flower, him staggering still. He turns and takes a handful of chips, leaning, forward and precarious. In brute fashion, she wipes her grease thick fingers on his cheeks. They get to the crossroad corner. He sinks on to a stone bench, asks a passer by for money. She drapes herself over his shoulder, kisses him like that. Minutes pass before the wander off, and out of sight again. Later, when I leave, I turn that same corner. To find them in an alleyway, whispering nothing sweet to each other.

Labels: chips, drunk, fish, glasgow, homeless, nothing, sweet

The three of them sit at the opposite end of the row. Two girls and a guy. The girl with the punky Mohawk-mullet thing sits in the aisle street. Something like cm gauge tunnels in her ears and wearing heavy framed glasses. She wears a white, long sleeved shirt, with an occasional blue stripe through it. The next girl is wearing a blue boob-tube, which are boobs are straining against, a star tattooed at the centre point, swirls and banners on either side. She wears a thick belt round her waist, silhouettes of witches on broomsticks repeating round its length. She wears short, short denim shorts, with black tights. He is skinny, wears a white t-shirt, one of those kind polo shirt things, with blue jeans. They plop three empty cardboard Coke cups into the cup holders of the cinema seats, before producing a 2 litre bottle of what appears to be diet coke. Though, as the evening goes on, and their behaviour changes, one has ones suspicions that there is a certain amount of vodka included in that mix. The girl in glasses is the quietest of the three, the couple getting quite loud as things progress. A few times people turn round and tell her in particular to shut the hell up! It’s a horror film, a remake of Korean horror, the girl is arguing with her dad’s new girlfriend, who is about to become her step-mother. The girl is shouting, slurring a little, slap her, slap ra bitch! At the end of the film she is crawling around the floor, trying to find her shoes, then trying to find who knows what. He stands up, and in doing so pulls up his trousers, which seemed to have gone remarkably far south during the film, the entirety of his white boxer shorts visible. As people shuffle by, trying to get out of the cinema, the girl in the white top stands there and apologises wearily.

Labels: cinema, drunk, glasgow