Who runs the World?
I had a cheat day, except I'm not on a diet. I'll try not to let that happen again as unlike many girls, I don't believe in cheat days. But I had a semi-valid reason.
Time to restart.
You wake up in the morning and you're alone, but not at home. She's gone, a flight to catch. Time is yours. Time trickles. You can feel each second. Last night you'd proven the contrary, but now you're just a child. You want to explore. It's like a whole new world. You wonder at each item, and there are hundreds. What is all this? It's all useless, yet serves a purpose.
You walk out a bit lost for this neighborhood is not yours. Your questions are unanswered, so you walk quite randomly. One way or the other, you'll find the way. This place is out of town, town as you know it. That central part you could call home. This place is the ghetto. Here you get to see how things work. This is the back stage of the big city life. Little ghetto makes big city work. But big city men don't care about little ghetto people, so easily replaced.
Here is where the cleaning lady sleeps on the street, and the taxi fleets are parked by the thousand. Where buses are dismantled, and welding is done naked eye. Where ghetto boy has a job at 11, and a lunch costs 4 yuans. Where grandpa must earn a living till he dies, and the crippled don't need to hide. Where smiles on people's faces are washed away for they are in pain and have anger. These people aren't the happy innocent of Ramallah, Yangon or Vanuatu.
These people know the other side. They run it. They make things work. They are the cement. They run the world.
Yet they are inaudible. No one hears them. No one cares.
Eyes wide shut.