When I first moved into my flat several years ago junkies and other neds would gather outside my window after dark. Occasionally they'd knock on the glass, apparently expecting some kind of reaction. Sometimes they just hung around chatting in subdued tones on the street.
The previous tenant was a man called Kyle. I never met Kyle but found out from a neighbour that he was taking psychiatric medication. He had severe mental health problems caused by a chronic drug addiction which had resulted in paranoia, manic schizophrenia and other related conditions.
The gang had completely taken over Kyle's life. They would bully him into giving up his welfare benefits and his medication (which they then cut with other substances to make what's known as Street Valium). Apparently Kyle went through such hell on an almost daily basis.
Eventually rescued and rehoused elsewhere by the local authority's social services department, Kyle hasn't been back here since. Good for Kyle, I say, hoping he's now faring better in every respect.
Why, dear reader, am I telling you all of this? Well, the junkies have now closed in again, this time on another tenant living in my stair. Joe, his name, also has serious psychiatric issues.
These scum - mostly the same people who tormented Kyle - those who haven't yet died of an overdose - are taking over Joe's life exactly like they did Kyle's.
Junkies and neds are therefore back in my stair. Sometimes they even unload and divvy up contraband from their shoplifting sprees, often taking delight in kicking open the stair's so-called security door upon arrival.
They're not a pretty bunch either. The females are prematurely aged crones whose skin, like the men's, exhibits some form of living-dead putrefaction. Any self-respect departed these dead souls long ago.
Indeed, Joe - who I was told used to offer himself as a male prostitute in order to finance his habit - has been on the periphery of this group at least as far back as the Kyle episode. Presumably Joe is now the runt of the litter. What goes around comes around.
Given I'm a man of faith, a fundamental Christian, one might expect me to want to intervene in order to help rescue Joe - and I've given it a thought, albeit very briefly. But the truth is that Joe is as much a nasty little bastard as the rest of them - and that's not a judgement, just an observation.
So I'm going to let it all play out and try to keep my own head low. I did deal with a few of them when they were taking liberties outside my own front door recently, but with God clearly using the Devil as his janitor in order to take out the trash, I'll make sure to stand clear and just watch.
Romans 1:28 - KJV