It's wicked to mock the afflicted

He carried himself with poise and dignity befitting a member of clergy. He is the tramp I see every morning wearing his stocking cap perched at the crown of his head like a grey woollen mitre. His careful and deliberate alcoholic steps could be confused for the solemn procession of a priest on his way to offer libations to dusty statues. He is the bishop of Leith, and as us wayward souls cram into fetid and humid buses to begin our day; he follows his purposeful path towards what god only knows.