Barking Dogs

Hordes of the pigeons are flying and walking on the pavements among the crowd of hundred or sow souls hanging on the thought of being fed. Some are bigger and stronger than the others; there are the skinny ones, the dirty and the clean ones, one leg ones. As the mob is walking past them they are lifting off the ground with the smell and little peaces feathers, bugs, and acid is flying around like a snowflakes. The queues for Polish, Bulgarians, Romanians, Lithuanians, Russians, English, Africans - the Generation of hunter - gatherers lost in the Babylon.
  The swarm of the hundred or more people from all over the world is getting quieter and tenser with every minute past the usual feeding hour. At first dispersed through out the area, it starts to gather it self into the cues, which has yet  nothing to cue for at they end. e they are leading no where. People are sharing they experiences and the information where and when is best to get what they need for surviving in the jungle of the concrete.
“No they are not coming today it is too late” - the quiet Englishman in the green gardeners tea shirt is the first one to accept the fate of the growl in his belly. He grins to his comrades: “Good luck Gentlemen”!
The “Gardener”  fixes his back pack  with the trouser belt, rolls all  on his own back and steps out of the line.
Just few minutes pass and white Ford van appears in the end of the road. The swarm echoes “Uh, yeah and ah! ” Disintegrating instantly, throngs of rough sleepers are in chase of still driving car and alongside the road in attempt to guess the spot where it is going to park
“Look what you became! Barbarians, you came here to destroy the Rome! Turn to Jesus till it is not too late, Jesus delivers, that’s why thousands, who inquire are healed” small guy with the hunched back is preaching in Lithuanian. Someone pass the bottle of the spring water filled with the distilled spirit, he drinks and shrinks his face:
Hey, you, you shall not pass,
The boldly shaven headed turns to him, brown eyes laughing:
“I am here to help” he is looking around confused, exposed now he stands not sure whether to go forward or back. He understands no one believes. The eyes of the crowd pierce him.
Next moment his is innocent smile turning into the fury:
“I will smash you fucking glasses into your face, if you tell me again. ““I am here to help, he repeats quieter. 
Rye shakes his hand in the air in the gesture of not caring.
“you are the wolf, dressed as my grandmother” he mumbles for himself and stay in waiting for his meal.
Finally there is the Indian man with the spoons beside the back door of the truck, and the others setting up a table with food and drink containers. Same undercooked peas and curry rice and the cup of an apple juice.
The men who are served meal of undercooked peas and curry rice and with cup of an apple juice,  walks along the walls further to consume what they where given, some sit on the pavement some uses the top of the wall to place they meal, others go along the side of the fence and eat using the rubbish bins as the tables.
The one is looking after the order of the line, pointing with the finger to those who try to come from aside  - go to the end of the line, go to the end of the line; you are not being served here! He is agitated but his voice is of a sick old guy.
The crowd is just watching the happening passively as if everyone signed the agreement for to be on the street promising mind only the own business.
“This one is feeding on the carcasses of its dead fellows” continues His revelation Ray,
“Go away you sick bastards, he is waving with the wrapped newspaper towards hitting one skinny and wet pigeon. “Ha!  English put the notes asking not to feed pigeons, but the barbarians do not know how to read!
“I am sure his tribe sent him here for food to his all his tribe which is sitting now in a two room council flat. ” Hi is nodding to the guy with the Tesco bag of the sandwiches
He used to be a senior engineer back in his country, but had lost his job; his wife left him, after he got into boos.  Now even when he goes in the Job centre and is asked to wait longer than ten minutes, he would get up, will say that everyone in here is a mob if thieves, who are living on his money, and leave.
He drove here his suitcase packed with the clothes the rest of his belongings, he has thick mat rolled on top of the case and a sleeping bag. Exercise man, one of the names he is called here. the
In this society in order to be able to use the resources of the rich one has to be like a clever parasite. They placed me into the mental institution for the assessment, bet after finding no clear illness they tried to invent one.
But why would they do it?
Because I am near my age of the pension, and I have my paintings exhibited sometimes and tell how I am living on the streets. But I do not want to talk about that. It is not safe subject. I have to go know it is a long way for me to walk. See you. We part. I head to the east. Past the crowds in the pubs drinking beer.  Socializing. Invisible, underground human parody.  Through the Bunhill burial grounds, past the ones who where prosecuted and  followed and lye now along with the poets. Through the narrow streets of the east end to the own hide.