It's wicked to mock the afflicted

You know you are a foreigner when most people assume that when they hear you are moving they assume it is to somewhere thousands of miles away rather than just down the road.

By the way, I just moved. And no, I am just moving down the road. To apparently a rough(er) part of town. It's certainly a weird mix. There are council towers across the street but there are also yuppie flats just as close. The last place was near the university and the children of the middle class are much more of a bother than the poor single mothers and drunken tramps that populate this neighbourhood. The former has the capital and the leisure to be a constant nuisance. The latter seem to have their hands full dealing with whatever it is they are rushing between. All day these young mothers are always hurrying about pushing rickety prams stuffed with wide blue-eyed children. Drunks who in my experience are rarely in a rush, but in this part of town they jaunt forward leaning slightly with a can of export in their hand to lead the way. The nights are very quiet compared with the old place where one had to listen to hysterical drunk girls shouting or crying and clumsily clomping in front of the window. If it's not the silly girls, it's the boys shouting or singing. The morning after, the sidewalks are mined with these privileged little shit's vomit. I've had the front window smashed for probably a reason less serious than 'Johnny's Sally was seen chatting with Bobby at the pub' and Johnny could only vent his frustration on my front window. During the days, these same people clog the sidewalks like pedestrian cholesterol. The bits of conversations I overhear are of such a painfully inconsequential sort I grit my teeth for minutes afterward until their grating voices clear from my head. I amazed one of the doesn't suddenly have the epiphany, begin tearing at his upturned collar, and run away screaming, "Ahhhh! You shallow wastes! All of us! Ahhhh!"