I’ve been sitting on this mountain peak in the middle of the city for at least a week. Today, while I was talking to a yellow marshmallow my peep sights caught you red handed, stealing from a crippled man’s cup. Styrofoam hopes gone in a minute just because you’re low on paper spinach; just because your habit has left you without any cream. Two blocks over we watched a woman with a cardboard arrow dance and point toward a towering condominium that only two percent of the population can afford. The irony is, two feet away two kids break their hearts on a flattened cardboard box to fresh beats; and this bitch with the sign is making double their daily income in two hours. Minutes later, in front of the courthouse we see our thieving crackhead friend from before beg for some “spare change” from a weeping woman battling for custody of her baby, who’s headed into the shady corner store to buy a pack of huggies and some newports, with her foodstamps. As the conversation between me and this chick cools out, once the blunt has been passed; nuclear reactor number three heats up in Tokyo, and the red cross forgets about Haiti, and the united nations continues to do nothing in Darfur. So until this SHIT! is fixed; I’ll continue to sit on this rooftop and protest the general consensus, of how terrible your lives are because gas cost three dollars and eighty six cents a gallon.