::11:08:07::

::: Benevolent Hope of Little Limbs :::

Five in the morning, staring blankly down Fourth Street in Reno. Walking the back alleys of decrepit dwellings. The stomach turns.
Staring blurruily at a pale red horizon. The smell of garbage and defeat, creeps.
Pimply - faced and pockmarked. Men sit ugly atop half - souled woman; who hang on benches like weathered - scarecrows. They have seen the worst of things.... Rides to hell and back and once more and back again. A handful of the screwed.
Poor tired smoked lungs. Poor red eyes, still poor. A trail of misery on holiday. Dark clouds, speaking with an angry tone, rumbling.
Questionable instincts of animals on two legs. All or nothing: winning and losing. Hope's deafening.

Written by: ~ Josh