BRUSHES WITH DRAG RATS V.2

I was having lunch at the jack in the box , facing the drag so I could watch all the people passing by ( not to mention I have this aversion to sitting with my back to the door of anywhere but home, I chalk this up to years of dealing with psychos and a desire to see the danger before it arrives) when in walks this 40 something woman who was obviously not quite right. She was wearing a winnie the pooh hoodie and had these "bracelets" on each wrist that were basically beanie babies. She also had a plastic bag with food from somewhere else, where I don't know. I had seen her earlier in the day, rambling up and down the drag aimlessly. I was close enough to the counter to hear her order: " One small coffee and a "complimentary" cup for water please". She got her coffee and water and took a seat in the dining area across from a 50-ish "not quite right" woman who kept going to the soda fountain refilling a milk carton with soda and returning to her table, hacking that emphysema hack and staring into space.
These are what I refer to as class three drag rats. Disturbed people who spend half their time in the state hospital and the other half living on the streets working up to the next episode that will land them in the hospital again. They don't bother people until they melt down, unlike the class one and two drag rats. Class one drag rats are totally devoted to the cause, they jump trains and move through a surprisingly organized network of cities based on availability of services for the "homeless" and where the drugs are. Or where the next gathering is. Class two dragrats are local kids who have either run away from home or pretend they have run away from home...the latter return to said homes when the sun goes down. It's all sex and drugs and...hepatitis B and C.
Both class one and two dress the part. They look like punks circa 1982. They aggressively panhandle and harrass people, they are harder to ignore.
Not so with the class threes...they don't bother anyone until it's meltdown time. They don't panhandle. They just wander around, killing the hours of the day, invisible to the teeming privileged on the drag, they are easy to ignore.
But not me. I see it all, the hardcore, the posers, the crazy. Years of training and experience make it almost impossible to block it out...I try to no avail. I see it all and connect the dots. And to the class ones I say, you made your bed - to the class twos I say, be careful...this lark you're living might bite you on the ass. I have nothing to say to the class threes, except I'm sorry. I'm sorry that the systems set up to assist them are feeble and exploited by the class ones, who are in addition to being first class crusties, are first class manipulators of that system.
I see this shit every day, and it drives me crazy. It also drives me to get back into what I used to do for a living. And I remain, as always these days it seems, conflicted.