The Committee to Nuke Elysium

“Bussing” is becoming a phenomenon in Britain, a grim choice for kids who, while not exactly homeless, are mostly not allowed or are too scared to go home very often. Unknown quantities of teenagers are spending their nights on buses, which are cheap (less than £5 on an Oyster card will get you around all night), instead of in a warm bed.

…

“So what’s the appeal?” I ask. “Why are so many young people doing this?” They all start bellowing again, keen to share their theories, but it’s the small, brown-eyed boy who has the most compelling one. “It’s legit, man. If you are in a shopping centre or even the fucking street, you can be moved on by anyone. But if you have an Oyster you’ve got a right to be here. No one can say shit.”
They all nod in agreement.
“Do you feel safer on a bus?” There’s an instant clamour to answer.
“Yes,” Kieran concedes. “From here you can see trouble coming. You’re less of a mug.” The notion of the bus as a watchtower both amuses and saddens me.

…

It’s getting on for 3am and Kieran announces that they will be getting off in a bit to “take care of something”. I don’t care to find out what this euphemism means but it leads me neatly to my next question: crime. There are vague, reluctant murmurs, with the vociferous defence that “crime is becoming the only option”. I ask them about last year’s London riots and most of them get a look on their faces like old hippies do when asked about Woodstock. The small one says to me angrily: “That was three fucking nights of the year my mum made me stay in!”