The Tramp Ladder

I'm afraid I didn't capture the moment photographically in this case, but yesterday lunchtime I saw an exemplary instance of street-dweller fraternity: taking a well-earned few moments out from shouting at shadows and swigging Buckfast, one half of a trampish pair reached over to the other and blew his nose for him.

I've never done this for anyone. 

Dargan's Tramp Displacement  Theorem has for some time held as its postulate, in a Pythonesque way, that a hobo from Plaistow would be looked down upon by a Highgate vagrant. Each has his distinct manor, and each knows his place.

One may, therefore,  only indulge in an upwardly social scramble when a can of Tennants bearing an RIP sign is in evidence.

I am led to assume that this extraordinary act of nasal-seepage removal is actually the indication of a passing tramp king.