Getting cold out and a rich sugary dessert is just what a poor soul woul relish this time in history. Cooked white rice, an inexpensive staple, white sugar, the devil’s own, sweet cinnamon, ground up tree bark, butter, squeezed from a cow with some chopped dates, found at the apex of certain palms and diced figs, recently dug up, or so it would appear. After a repast of dissimilar foodstuffs the treat described above was a completion of the picture.
And the poor live like kings. Exotic fruits, aromatic spices, rich nutritive grains and cow squeezins from all over the globe, there’s no complaints. They can get in their cars and go. They can raid the merchants and come back. Even the poor can raid the merchants using tact, shopping the sales, buying used and day old, mending, alterations, upcycling and what not. Socks can be washed sterile and at 55c a pair neither foot will feel a breeze. The poor are not naked, unless by volition.
The poor eat well, the poor can travel, by volition, the poor can dress well, with tact, the poor can stay warm and dry without fear of ricochet, in most cases. The poor are entertained. They can go to a place and borrow a book that has truths in it a hundred years old or watch a screen with lies only a minute old. They can watch the sky rampant above the forever landscape, in places where there are no fees or strictures. There the poor can reflect on the oldest of thoughts. That it might be tough to squeeze a cow in it is perhaps better to let others do it.
Historically, globally the poor do not have it so well. Roofs and food are not in abundance, forget the figs. In another time they were killed for thier meager things. In another place they still are. Or killed for their thoughts, always best kept to oneself, killed for their appearance or sound or just for sport. In this place and time it still is true. Still, here and now the poor can have dessert so there is no complaint. Revolutions start in empty stomachs.