Market Street

I want to know their stories. I want to know how they got to where they are now and why they are this way. I want to learn about their pasts, their presents, and any possible ambitions their marred selves may still carry for the future. I want to see the world, just briefly, from their points of view. Every single person I pass on the street is a mystery, some darker than others, and yet each equally colourful and alluring; though it’s the ones that are worse off that seem to entice me that much more. I crave perspective and live for the moments of realization that come with actually sitting down and examining or genuinely conversing with someone. I want to meet these people, as twisted and abandoned and fucked up as they may be. I’m trying to believe in the good that’s left in humanity, and I feel compelled to actually care; I want to understand. I am unabashedly and shamelessly fascinated with them; I want to know the human story, and I need to know their stories.