Mate.
For a few teenage years I used to be abused by my clarinet teacher in my parents bedroom, leading up to the time he raped me. I'm must have been a shit hot piece of ass because I also got raped in a clothes shop changing room when I was 16 by another paedophile. This sexual abuse drove me on a downward spiral of aggression, self hatred and powered my self destruction through anything and everything.
Shortly after that I was homeless for a couple of years, getting pissed on, beaten, and frequently robbed by drunk cunts who probably saw me as nothing more than "a no mark junky". The sort of cunts who'd probably happily wrap themselves in flags and national pride.
Everybody - every single person - I knew on the streets had similar tales of sexual or physical abuse, or had another form of psychological trauma. As the 80s rolled on we were joined by the economically disenfranchised. It's cold, hard and lonely out there. It's fucking hard. With each passing day, with each freezing night your mind deteriorates - no matter how strong a person you were, you crumble. You do things you'd never dream of doing just to get some food, some warmth, some sense of normality - something to block out the rage and pain.
Shooting a gun doesn't make anyone a better person than anybody else. The bravery of state sanctioned murder means they should be valued over the prepubescent girl who got passed around her uncles? The young lad who spent every day being beaten shitless by his alcoholic father? Nah. Not a fucking hope.
No one lives on the street because they chose that way of life. They spiralled there through lack of love, hope and/or support. And if people write them off as "a no mark junky" then they're pretty much fucked.
I'm not having a pop at you, I accept that most fail to understand the realities of why people are homeless or why they do the things they do once there. This is more a plea to ask you to check yourself and just ponder on it for a bit.
I escaped because I received strong support and unconditional love. I made their lives hell over and over - but in the end they got me into college, a career and my own house. I escaped because people saw the potential for me to grow with opportunities, opportunities that thanks to cuts to the mental health service, social services, and council homes just doesn't exist to any sane level any longer.
That "no mark junky" could one day own a business, fix your car, or be an MP. Give them all a chance, eh?