Poor buggers are discovering message drift.
Their uniform is obviously martial masquerading as spiritual, or vice-versa.
Whichever way, it's a dangerous combination which to me seems to leave a large inviting door open to people who to me would seem to be pretty much my opposite.
He'd be locked in there for a week in their drunk tank, fed and watered, until the day his mysterious cheque came in, when he'd bring it round to The Ex and drink it all in one hearty session, then wander back and surrender again to the uniformed folks to clean himself out. He patiently performed this ritual until his face was vaguely presentable and all the dressings came off.
Serves 'em right. Jimmy woulda loved it.