Victoria, part two

Last week, my lovely little corner of the world was visited by Prince Charles and his wife.  You know, the guy with the big ears that married that horse-faced woman?  I'm sure you're familiar with him. 

Before he arrived, the police presence doubled in my fair city.  The homeless were shuffled off main sidewalks, and started camping in the areas around the city, rather than sleeping in bus shelters.  In many places in this city, you'll see a mattress underneath the shelter of a tree, or a tent in a field, surrounded by garbage.  But the cops came, and made sure those without a place to sleep moved just a little further down the road.

Of course, dear Prince Chuck saw none of that.  But he did get to see our nice little navy ships.  And he let the local children feed his wife a carrot.  They laughed, and made a comment about british dental hygiene.  Fun was had by all. 

The week is over, now.  And the police are gone.  And the homeless are back.  And I wonder - how much did last week cost?  And how were our lives improved?  Wouldn't it have been so much more worthwhile to spend that extra money used for a week of intense police presence to instead, I don't know, expand on homeless programs?  Drug treatment programs?

I'm beginning to find myself siding with the dirty soapbox hippies on the street corners, over my usual police sympathies.  And I really don't like that.  When the hippies start making more sense than uniformed officers of the law, there's a problem.  When the revolution comes, I don't want to be fighting on the side of the Tofu and Soymilk brigade.  But damn, the police are making it hard. 

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