A lonely homeless man stumbles into an alley. He looks around for any sign of attention as he wanders through dozens of animated mirrors, flickering from the glare of bright burning bonfires. He's just another face to them..does this man think we're his new family..one he never had? A lowered head and raising eyes guide him over the asphalt to the hovel where he will spend nights slouching, watching back and forth for a god to come and save him with his wealth, or part of it. And then indulging himself in fumes from a brown sack, forget who the god was..and even who he himself is..if anybody.

Above the bonfires, the smoke rises and blends with the night's overcast clouds, leaving traces..sparkles of orange firelight dimming in and out, swirling and twisting between the smoke like lightning bugs.

Above the noisy street of nonamers, inside of a rusted fire escape, the young boys sleep in their hard, uncomfortable cots, and dream of dreams and things that keep them boys. There, where nothing is wrong tonight, and everything is wrong tomorrow, the light switch of their subconsious clicks on and off, on and off, light to dark, dark to light. And the two never mix. Each one is their own being..just like the boy. Every other night, tears tinted of red from the randomly blinking neon sign across the alley, roll down his cheek, while the sounds of his cry and the moan in his voice wakes up the drunks, and the homeless, and the mutts that wander the streets below aimlessly, like blind mice in a maze with no exits. Because there are no exits, well, no easy ones anyway. Most just forget, accept this fact, and continue through the maze in circles, randoming choosing destinies that lead nowhere..or to places only the philisophically challenged go.

All the time, a different religion's saviour will stir in countless numbers of peoples' minds and fiddle with the puppets' strings..laughing and chuckling away to their merry self. But for the devil, he sits alone in his hell, with no rival anti-christs, no competition to tend to..fooling with the saviours' puppets; burning a string every so often, one by one. Bringing them closer to the one forementioned exit - death. And every time they burn themselves into death, thinking they will actually live, the devil bellows out a thunderous roar in triumph. The ground of the world above shakes and rumbles to let human kind know of his presence. The saviours retaliate and send down their streaks of white light and their acid rain from above. Then the frightened puppets come to your doors and speak to you about the end of the world and the reign of god upon us.

People still go on ignoring, and the lovers still go on loving, and the preachers still go on preaching their sunday sermons of the meaning of life and the best way through it..beading around the bush day by day, corrupting and twisting the minds of others from what they should believe in their own souls.

Some days consisted of mixed feelings. Walking along the small, but busy streets, your mind would change with the scenery. Just never with the people. Not for me anyway.

The sidewalks were overflowing with them, going to class or work, or back home from either. I would catch eyes with a few of them before they passed by, some with an aura as golden as their hair, others that looked like death in sheep's clothing. I made no mind of them or the way they made my stomach curdle, for they were of no importance in my life, as most strangers are. The homeless were camped out at usual territorial places, as they had no other possesions to be territorial about. I wondered about their view, especially when I wasn't in their presence. They had both the pleasure and displeasure of living with the outside world on a daily basis..feeling its beauty and wrath close at hand. Their dirt-ridden hair was worn, almost as much as their clothes..some with hats that didn't much help their look, and others, just plain.

When i hit the end of a street, waiting for a walk sign, i used to think I had just passed some secret organization of commonalities, even though I knew they all had gotten there in their own unique ways. A lost job, love, or mind.

The weather here did not much clear up or brighten any of these observations for me. In short spans, very short in fact, you could bring yourself to fantasize about being somewhere else. But it would not last any longer than a picnic quickly ended by a sudden downpour.

There were many small streets and alleys to escape on. Most were safe and free of the crowds, yet within shouting distance of the ones where rapes and stabbings and other hideous crimes took place on. The hills covered by these streets were shady, mostly from the talls buildings accompaning them, and not so much by the trees you had wished for. The shade was steady and cold, even in the summer..as it was now. The wind would blow through you like you didn't exist, making you forget the season, leaving the coldness to overtake. Houses were sparsed in between the university buildings, like some architect's futile plot to preserve a homey feeling among the smog and noise of the city. Looking down the hill to where the shadow ended and the sun started, I always felt an anxiousness, a longing to walk faster. I felt this way because once the sun came straight down in my eyes, a whole other world presented itself. The clouds were gone in the sky and in your mind. Closing your eyes, one could dream about being on a beach with the sun coming in the same amount, forget about the current reality, street, and be happy. As said before though, I found this very short, as greater forces were at work, destined to unbalance your day with melancholy.