There is a place, called "The Valley of Perpetual Unrest". Deep within the recesses of the urban jungle, and shielded from the gaze of the uptown elite. A place where squalor abounds, and war is declared with the scrawl of graphetti. Where outstreched hands, reach from behind the tinted glass of a luxury sedan, to accept a bag of smack from an unknown source. A wad of bills is traded for a lifetime of miserable addiction. A glance is exchanged between two pairs of eyes. One parched of their humanity, the other deprived of sleep. As one slips back into obscurity with the roar of an engine block, the other receeds into the murky underworld from where he came, to await his next customer. Meanwhile, in the shadowy alcove of an adjacent storefront, the darkness is momentailry broken, by the illumination of a crack pipe. Much like Jonah in the stomach of the whale, this poor creature also resides in the belly of the beast.
Nobody smiles here.
Occupants continuously pace the same, decrepit street corners. Over, and over, and over. Transfixed, they wander aimlessly, throughout their own little subdivisions of Hell. Heads down, eyes up, with their hands jammed into their pockets. Speaking their own language, communication is made in gestures, not words. Their intricate expressions ambiguous to outsiders, entire conversations are played out across the street before unsuspecting eyes, mere yards away in a police squad car. As complex and sophisticated, as any clan or tribe.
Clothed in the rags of neglect, the colour of their attire is as bleak and drab as the existence they live. Army green fatigues, cheap yet durable, not only serve as practical uniforms for the reality of the street, but also absorbe and conceal the filth soaked up from a life lived in the trenches. Concealing blood, and the damage inflicted in the heat of battle. Waring over territory, over whores, and at times, even over the very right to call this cesspool "home".
In a place where the hand of hope has failed to reach, there are no 'soldiers'. Just 'casualities' waiting to happen.
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