Dull grey street, functional and flairless. Colour free is its character, depressing as hell it makes you feel alive. Push your cheek hard-on crack chewed grafitti walls, run fingers over rusty chicken wire borders. Revel in reality, oncrete for once.
You think I'm slumming it. Shoulder to shoulder with wild drunks and noble fuck ups, drinking in gutter water romance. Shit of the earth and that salt.
None of that.
It is the colour, its lack. Environments quaity bare and sterile despair. What fucking potential? Wasted land, desolate.
Crack the world part 1.
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