“They found Gary.”
That was the response to my question regarding the police presence yesterday.
EDIT: Some in the community have arranged a memorial for Gary.
I live in an economically depressed community. Swathes of addicted streetwalkers to the south and crack and smack street dealers to the north. Between these bookends are some dozen or more churches and me. Adjacent to me is an abandoned church, a haven for the doubly disenfranchised homeless in the community.
Gary didn’t make it to Christmas. Perhaps I saw him around the neighbourhood, but I didn’t know Gary by name.
“It doesn’t sound like it ended well,” said I. “I think it was frostbite,” he continued.
I find it difficult to believe it was frostbite, but I’m no expert. It barely gets below freezing this in part of the country and not lately.
“He had no place to go. They wouldn’t let him in the shelter because he drinks.”
This is Tough Love™ in action. Hate the sin. Fuck the sinner. Another victim of the system and of morality vis-à-vis Virtue Signalling.
In the words from the first Home Alone instalment: Merry Christmas, you filthy animal.