/lit/ - Literature

How should I edit this mess?
His tent was gone.
Stolen, most likely; though he’d never know.
It was during his trip to the 24-hour that the thieves had struck.
He was sure of it.
He asked those around. Surely someone might have seen them.
A few, politely, said they hadn’t.
Others asked him who he was.
‘How can you not know’
‘Easy to forget a face’.
Everything was gone; rightfully, he was upset.
Photographs, memories, and the last of his family: vanished into the unfamiliar city night.
On the verge of tears, he turned to the mouth of the alley; the bastards had returned!
Not just for the tent, but for him.
‘Come on then ‘ye bastards’.
The police were with them too.
‘In on it both, are ‘ya? Not satisfied to leave a man in peace?’
two men in white coats pointed towards him.
A policeman approached; at first he tried to reason with him. Then he tried to trick him.
All ends with odds, a scuffle broke out. Like a child forced home by his mother, they dragged him from the alley and into a van nearby.
‘Where ‘ya takin’ me, thieves. First my tent, now my life; what’s the world comin’ to! Not happy ‘till I’m dead you’se bastards, O yes, all like me one by one behind the chemical sheds’. He spat at the driver. ‘Fought and killed scum like you’se’.
They pulled up to a row of houses. At the sight of the van, one of the doors opened, and down the garden path came a middle aged woman; her eyes red and cheeks wrinkled into a smile.
Forced out of the van, the door slammed behind him. As it did, the middle aged woman flung her arms around his neck.
‘Daddy’ she cried.
‘Where’s my tent’