ram28zes
After a short stroll along the conveyor I found myself outside the entry, 221 Spirit of Conscience Charity, and stepped off the platform. There was a sizeable filing of citizens, comprising an assortment of hobos, vagrants and other dropout types that the engine of our human despairing seems to spew out. The line scuffled along and they mumbled and moaned, the unfortunates; desperatees, knife edge dwellers… I joined the depressive column with resignation, an indistinguishable compatriot, at the very end of a long and ragged streak, attempting to blend in… which was quite easy considering my dishevelment.