Twelve years ago this district was a ghost town. Nothing but derelict factories full of people on the fringe. It was quiet, a good place to think, then the construction companies came, followed by the middle class. I miss when it was only me and the junkies. Where do they sleep now?
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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