Discovering the naked, twitching, vulnerable, darkness in everyone I see.
...a bullfighter dressed in shades of red, black and gold with the grime of dust and blood caught in his curly black hair alone en la noche de Sevilla....
Slow, thumping, British beats with low, indiscernible vocals pasted over a tumult of noise.
so I was standing in the kitchen eating some fruit loops...
all of them any of them more of them
the guy who picks up my trash with a smile who speaks two languages and quietly goes about his day bringing money home for a small family somewhere in a modest apartment in a mediocre neighborhood with no realistic method of escape