Though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every love child a child broken baggage sunk in a leak. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible. And for every kind stranger, there is one who will break you. Though I keep this from my children, I am trying to sell them world. Any decent realtor walking you through a real shithole chirps on about good bones. This place could be beautiful, right?