Walking through the city, my lungs filled with a mixture of cat food and alcohol. Indeed not the best smell in the world but one distinct of many. The people roaming the area came from all types of economic binds. However the one I often see involves the lowest of low. The broken. The ones pushed aside. I see it in their eyes. The pain. The struggle. The unknown. 

The mixture of individuals on here is so prominent. The mother carrying the groceries, exhausted but still pushing to give her children a life better than the one she has endured. The ones that reek of alcohol with their head down. Contemplating what to do, wondering why their heart is still beating. The ones that enjoy the high because it's the only sense of relief they can endure. 

Their stare is one the compares to no other. Each of them have the same look. The look that pierces your soul. Each story is different but that look, man that look, is all but the same.