Tramp Chronicles: Ponderance

Albert needed to get shit in perspective so he stopped off at a nearby crack house. As he exhaled from a draw of his pipe he looked at all of the curled up bodies with cracked out faces lying on the vomit stained carpet. It occurred to him that the Irish tramp could be a weird manifestation of a guilt ridden lifestyle brought to life by consuming copious amounts of crack. He dismissed this thought however, for two reasons.

Firstly the fact that he was able to rationalise these thoughts in his head (whilst smoking crack) told him that he was still in control. Crack had never affected Albert like a normal person, consequently Albert was able to smoke crack like most people smoked weed. He used it to chill out and reflect upon the days events. No doubt this was due to his superhuman tramp capabilities. Some would say that crack robbed a person of their soul, but Albert lost his a long time ago.
Secondly guilt was a term that Albert had to look up in the dictionary from time to time in order to get a grasp on exactly what this emotion was meant to be. Albert was remorseless and therefore never regretted his actions unless they had unfavourable consequences for him.
It was a surprisingly cold day but there was a hint of optimism in the air inspired by the persistence of sunshine. It was just the sort of day that Albert loved not for the obvious reasons but for the fact that it should be a good days tramping. Wheel chair guy was one of Albert’s top earners and should do well on a day like this. Wheel chair guy was that tramp that you couldn’t help but look at (If you did try and ignore him there was a high probability that his wheelchair would fuck you over somehow) and looking pitiful was his ‘thing’.

It was breakfast time so Albert went to the Corner shop and bought two cans of special brew (one for lunch) and returned home. When he arrived Trevor was outside with Albert’s girlfriend both of them screaming ‘Alberrrrrt’ a great deal louder than necessary.
Albert gripped his girl’s entire arse in one hand (one of the many benefits of beating a skinny crack fiend) whilst looking directly at Trev. Albert then poured some of his special brew onto the girl’s forehead and proceeded to lick it off her face. Although Albert was a grimy guy, this behaviour was done purely to make Trev jealous as he knew that Trev had always liked this girl. In fact that was Albert’s sole motivation for turning her into a crack head and making her his bitch.

The three of them went into the block, climbed the pissy stairwell and entered Albert’s flat. The door was open as per usual, no one would dare thief from him, not only because he was top tramp in the bits, but the smell seeping out into the hallway was rancid.

Albert awaited wheel chair guy’s arrival.

Tramp Chronicles: Irish Tramp, what on earth?

Who was this old Irish tramp? Why did he keep calling Albert, Davie? Better still why did Albert have it? The last question was the most perplexing to Albert, although he didn’t like to blow his own trumpet he was a grime Lord and no one fucked with him and got away with it. Although this might seem like a minor annoyance to a normal person Albert had abducted people’s kids for less, he had a rep and this would simply not do.
As he sat down on the bench thinking about what had just happened he felt the urge to punch wheelchair guy in the face, he fulfilled this urge and knocked out another one of his front teeth. Wheel chair guy spat the blood out of his mouth, thankful that he had managed to stay in his chair this time, because trying to crawl back into your wheel chair with one arm and limited legs is a bitch. Albert seemed to be having another one of his turns so wheel chair guy and mad Scottish tramp fucked off.

Albert didn’t remember much of his meeting with that Irish tramp, but he felt different his superhuman tramp capabilities seemed to be enhanced. Also there was a yearning for something, something he could not quite put his special brew smelling finger on. He needed some answers so he set off to find this Irish tramp. Albert didn’t think that this would be a problem as this was his manor and he could find anyone that was out on road. At this time of the morning the streets were his, it was nice and quiet, the perfect conditions for disposing of an unsuspecting old tramp.

Baffled again. Albert try as he might could not locate this old tramp. He was just beginning to doubt himself when he heard that mocking old voice with an Irish accent saying ‘Davie’ directly behind him. Even Albert was in awe at the stench of this guy’s breath and for the first time in the longest while Albert experienced a shiver down his spine. No one crept up on Albert. But here was this old Irish Tramp standing down wind from him stinking of piss and smiling a toothless smile. Albert reacted from fear for the first time in his life and tried to bore the Irish tramp in his neck with his rusty fingernails. The tramp seemed to disappear but from nowhere he was behind him again. This time he was laughing Ah Ha HA Ha Ha Ha………. ‘You’ve got potential Davie there’s a war comin an you’ve got works to do!’ The Irish guy was gone and Albert looked at his can of special brew for answers; war? Potential? Works? Albert had never completed a days ‘work’ in his life.. The only thing that he knew for certain was that getting rid of this old Irish bastard would be a lot harder than anticipated.

Tramp Chronicles: The Plan, (the beginning)

At this point, Leemo, a man known to most as wheel chair guy wheeled onto the close, even if you couldn’t see him there was no way you could not hear this intermittent panting when he rolled by. This was a very irregular breathing pattern if you ask me but I’m not a doctor, still.
He had the use of one arm and one leg, apparently he suffered a ‘fall’ one day, yet anytime he started talking about this to somebody, he got the ‘hard stare’ off Albert which seemed to stop him mid breath. Truthfully that ‘hard stare’ would stop anyone in their tracks regardless of the subject matter.
Leemo winged it round to the side of the bench and positioned himself next to Albert, he proceeded to reach into the side of his chair with his one good hand and take out some drug paraphernalia; rizla, tobacco and the like. He was old school, so he was still on the small red rizlas and seeing as he only had the use of the one arm, he had developed what some might describe as an invaluable skill. He single handedly constructed a three paper zoot, it wasn’t loose, it wasn’t tight, it was just right, a smokers delight really.
There they sat, on the close, 2 on the bench, one in a chair, drinking and drugging, frightening passers by with their presence alone.
Every now and again mad Scottish tramp would swear under his breath, at nothing in particular, perhaps life on the road was getting him down.
Albert often just nodded his head in agreement but never said much, he would observe everything around him but not in a paranoid way. Albert’s demeanour was over powering and projected the unpredictability of your scarier than average mad man about town. The hours rolled by as the bench began to deform into the angular shapes of their tramp arses. The old Irish geeze from outside the bank came strolling onto the close with a ‘Dick van Dyke come Billy the Kid’ swagger. “Daaaaavie”, he crooned as he looked all three in the eye, “I’ve got an offer for ya, an offer you can’t refuse”
At this point, he was staring at Albert; Albert returned the stare with a blank yet omniscient look on his face. This lasted for a period of time unknown, but it was long enough to remember it was significantly longer than a normal ‘stare down’. The Irish geeze then tipped his hat and spun on his heel, he walked as though he was leaving the close, and without looking back he gestured with his hand for Albert to follow him.
Without saying a word, Albert slowly got up, nodded at his two companions, I imagine that the nod meant ‘stay’ because they didn’t get up to follow him. He had gone after the Irish geeze, marching out of the close, he made a left and the old man tapped on his shoulder.
“Listen Davie, you strong arm having fella you, listen close”. He leaned in, speaking for hours detailing some plan or other to Albert, who just nodded, the man spoke in an animated fashion, taking off his hat drawing figures in the air with it, spinning it around and putting it back on his head. Until finally, Albert gave the big man nod and walked away, this is when he started the bop, the mad man bop, the ‘I might punch you up or I might give you some stolen flowers’ bop. Albert was unpredictable, flagrant, definitive and more alive than ever.

Tramp Chronicles: The Change

The change in Albert occurred over a period of time, I couldn’t put it in an exact time frame, but it is clear that these changes came about through a series of events. Albert was a character, but until now it was never clear what sort of character he was except that he was a character you didn’t want to get to know.
One of Albert’s favourite pastimes was begging on the high street, although he had clothes, food and shelter he liked to fit in with the other local tramps. On a day like any other, Albert was sitting on the pavement on the steps of Barclays bank, looking trampy and not smelling very wholesome, one might say he smelt less than halfsome. He was collecting his booty in a medium sized juice cup from a local fast food outlet, when a very old, somewhat crooked man walked past and dropped a tin of beans in Albert’s lap. This instantly infuriated him and he dashed the tin in the back of the old mans knees as hard and as fast as his superhuman tramp capabilities would allow him. The old man fell to the ground, but instead of him falling straight to the ground and flat on his face, he fell forward, his knees hit the ground, but then he rose back up in an almost elegant fashion. It was as though his bandy legs were made of rubber. He spun around on his heel and looked Albert dead in the eye: “Daaviiie”, he said in a strong northern Irish accent, “you’ve got a strong arm on ya, and a strong arm is what I needs”…Albert stared into the man’s face, with great intensity, half contempt, half intrigue. The man gave a wry smile and disappeared round the corner.
Albert got up and walked back to his abode, at this point in time it is impossible to say exactly what was going through his mind; was he thinking about how the old man was uninjured when Albert had clearly utilised his superhuman tramp capabilities on him? Was he wondering why this old bastard called him Davie? Or was he thinking about the beans and how he could have used them for his tea? It’s impossible to say, such is the mystery that is Albert’s mind.
On return from a hard days tramping, Albert met up with some associates of his, one a white man, middle aged, large frame, and a tough guy image if you would. Trevor Willis, the mad Scottish tramp, was yet another unsavoury character who had some form of unspecified dealings with Albert. Trevor was known for his aggressive attitude and violent outbursts, although family members may describe him as being a ‘BFG’ this is rather unlikely as the sort of personality disorder Trevor suffers from or in fact inflicts upon others is more inherent than an acquired ailment he uses to camouflage his soft nature on the mean streets of south London. Noted in the minds of many as a particularly dangerous tramp, Trevor rolled up and down the high street like he was always on a mission, some tramp mission but a mission none the less. He strolled onto the close with a can of tenants in his hand, giving Albert the “big man nod”, Albert responded with the same action and the proceeded to sit on the bench, the only bench on Fracas Close. If this bench was not inanimate and in fact had the power of speech, it would tell us the trials and tribulations of every bottom that graced its wooden splinters.

Tramp Chronicles: ALBERt

Life or legend? Myth or reality? Deviant sexual predator or merely misunderstood? These questions shroud the existence of one man, one man known to most by the name of Albert, although it is unclear if this is a pseudonym or in fact the name his mother "blessed" him with at birth. He lives in a grotty 2 bedroom flat in a hidden cul-de-sac deep in the depths of south London. For years little was known about Albert, and still there is much to find out, to the lively adult inhabitants of Fracas close he was a docile mad man who came and went from maudsley mental hospital to Fracas baring no reverence to their everyday lives. To the children, however he was a frightening shadow of darkness and mystery; apparently he threw his cans of beans against the wall to open them for his dinner, apparently he tried to kidnap Josie but she managed to get away somehow. He came like the candy man of south, except you don’t have to look in the mirror and call his name 5 times, you just have to say his name once, look around and guarantee he would be there looking in your direction whether you’re in your house looking out the kitchen window, or you’re on the road, walking somewhere surrounded by a hundred people or more.Albert had lived at Fracas close since time began or at least he was there before I moved in, and he will probably be there when judgement day comes, albeit his very own crack of doom or indeed the day that revelation speaks of. Over the years, generations came and went, people were born and people died in that very close and gradually the place changed as would be expected. As it changed, so did Albert, he went from being that docile mad man, the sight of which horrified children, to a more overt, more out going sort of guy. His presence certainly increased and to those of us who were those frightened children this was indeed a frightening sight. The changes in Albert were noticeable to say the least, he had a new walk, a kind of bop, a mad man bop where his head bobbed forward and you could now tell when he was having a particularly ''good'' day, because there would be a little bit more of bounce in his step, a little bit more of a jig. Before long Albert had a form of girlfriend, a skinny, pale, sallow faced crack head who visited everyday without fail, shouting, "ALLLBERRRT" from the top of her crack damaged lungs as she meandered towards his flat, announcing her arrival in this way probably because neither of them had mobile phones to contact each other and also it was more than likely that she had once entered unannounced and found him doing some deed or other that she wished never to witness again, be she crack head or not.