At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
Everything has a past, a voice, existed at some point, even things as small and seemingly meaningless as a house in a huge suburb. It__ a house like every other house_ but at some point a family lived there, made it theirs, made it important. When people forget that history, that somebody at some point thought the house mattered, it just becomes an empty pile of nailed wood and brick and concrete that gets torn down for some strip mall or chain store to take its place_ and that__ what happens more and more now, everything is disposable, always replaced with no thought at all. That__ where things get lost, memories get lost, humanity slips through the cracks, because when we all fail to pay attention to the things that make up our lives, we__e no longer human at all, not really.
Smog City
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Everything has a past, a voice, existed at some point, even things as small and seemingly meaningless as a house in a huge suburb. It__ a house like every other house_ but at some point a family lived there, made it theirs, made it important. When people forget that history, that somebody at some point thought the house mattered, it just becomes an empty pile of nailed wood and brick and concrete that gets torn down for some strip mall or chain store to take its place_ and that__ what happens more and more now, everything is disposable, always replaced with no thought at all. That__ where things get lost, memories get lost, humanity slips through the cracks, because when we all fail to pay attention to the things that make up our lives, we__e no longer human at all, not really.
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