(UNTITLED)      Children crying in every other house, their voices join together like a choir of terror. Music blastin' so loud the vibration is shakin' other peoples car windows. Thugs standing on the corner with their pants saggin' yellin' "A yo, come here you, yeah you, come here shorty! Graffiti on the sides of the stores. Broken glass in the street. Smell of smoke in the air: car smoke, cigarette smoke, blunt smoke, gun smoke. Sun burning my face, air hot and sticky. Clouds dark like night, in the middle of the day. Not a wind passing by, nor a chance to change it.
Ashley Burroughs
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