I’m not a beggar, 

I’m a street performer.

The cash flow is weak,

but my morale is weaker. 

Cigarettes warming my blood and bones, 

rags not protecting from the wind. 

How did I opt into this life?

How does anyone?

Freedom.

People are cheap. 

They’ll do anything for money. For diamonds and gold. 

And they don’t even try to hide it anymore. 

Greed is what will kill us all. 

The greed to have more and the ability to get it. 

Through violence? Maybe. 

Through trickery? Possibly. 

Through death? Yes.

Keep going. That’s all we can do. 

Until we re-evolve into what we came from. 

The leeches we’ll all become. 

Greasy and slimy. 

Dirty and grimy. 

It all happens in the end. 

With no order. No purpose. 

But it happens.

If just to only bring down the human race. 

To show us our disgrace.