I roam the cityscape just before dawn. Apart from a couple of cars cruising slowly by every now and then, it is quiet. That is why I prefer to come down here this time of day. Everything around me feels strangely fresh, new. And as the light of day creeps down the faces of the buildings and into the black tar of the roads, and as people start to populate the streets with their noisy, polluting cars, their firmly set expressions whether behind the wheels, as passengers or pedestrians, as this sudden and violent transformation of the day breaking into action occurs, I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into myself. I move away from a world that seems to make little sense for those who occupy it and into one that I can barely make sense of, but which is mine nonetheless. The movement and hunger that pervades the inner city, the blood that flows between its veins and into its cells on a daily basis scares me. Yet, here I am every morning to witness it. I sit on a sidewalk silently. I contemplate a thousand moments every day; moments of being you and you and you and you, placing myself inside your clothes, your step, your mind. And each time it scares me. The feelings I get when I pretend I am you as I watch you pass by leave me empty inside. You never smile. You never look around yourself. You are always going somewhere with grim determination, pushing yourself forward to a place it seems you don’t want to go to. You are so caught up in your own worlds. Yes, you see me even though you pretend you don’t. And those thugs weighing you on the scales of injustice. But you ignore it. You ignore us because you have something important and abhorrent to do so that you can feel your own importance.