It's wicked to mock the afflicted

I saw the tramp¹ sitting on the bin beside the penguin crossing. He looked worn and exhausted from drink. He gave me a smile and a nod and I smiled and nodded back. As if that was our pre-determined signal he jumped into traffic. London traffic. Chelsea Traffic. A4 Cromwell road traffic. He held his arms and legs out as if to catch any SUV or fat silver Mercedes that might fail to heed his shouts. Pointing to one, he shouted, "Don't be a cunt. Stay!" He looked over his shoulder and nodded to me. Not wanting to disappoint his unexpected hospitality, I stepped from the pavement and marched forward with pedestrian lemmings following. A middle-aged Asian man with whom I shared a tube carriage and a lift smiled at me, amused as we all were.
"I've got friends in low places," I said. This sort of thing happens more often than you would think.

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1) "Oi Vey! Enough with the tramp stories" I hear my large jewish grandmother readership say.