The nights are worse. Instead of average people ignoring me, I have crazed crackheads watching me. Analyzing as if I am some sort of test subject. I don’t know what they want, but they refuse to go away. Then the sounds of the nightlife came into play. An occasional scream, laughter was often, cop sirens almost being ambient. Everything blended together to create an album, if you will. A mixed tape of what the city has to offer.

And if it were put on the shelves, it wouldn’t sell a single copy.

I started to think more and more about what actually happened to me. Who brought me here, and why? Where are they now? What importance am I? But at these points, I began to question my own sanity. Maybe I was here all along. Maybe not. All I know is this place is constantly changing, and I need to escape.