I didn’t sleep, I lay awake; my back against the concrete, my head in the filthy dirt which smelled of old piss and stale liquor. The hour before the sun comes up is always the coldest hour. The dew settles on your skin, even under your clothes, there is always a point just before then when the wind stops and all is quiet, the birds don’t sing, the trees don’t sing and the only thing moving is the river as it quietly rolls along the shore. I often dreamed of simply rolling my body into the water and letting it carry me away. No one would miss me, any of us, people would walk on as normal, nobody sees us, we are ghosts, remnants of lives lost, ruined by drugs and war.

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