Forward By Christopher
I pause a moment to take in those around me. Old souls whose faces carry deep lines etched by the hand of time. Within this sea of humans are the young and agile moving about without a care or a worry, their sentence a mere inconvenience in their lives.
Most of the time it’s the young crowd that gets to go home. Released through the ever spinning door of incarceration, but truly not free. They will return. Back as a statistic for time has wizened me to this fact.