I walk into the thick of the crowd, past the fish markets and glowing neon signs, the massage parlors and the bao kiosks. As I plod down the stairs, the rumbling sounds of construction reminds me of the distant shock of homelessness and the smell of mud.
You go skipping and prancing through life, skipping through a field of dandelions. But what you donít see is that on each dandelion is a bee, and on each bee is an ant, and the ant is biting the bee and the bee is biting the flower, and if that shocks you then Iím sorry.
Last edited by rapscalious rob : 11-28-2006 at 03:19 AM.