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The People on the Street
Walking down the street, I see the homeless, the refugees from the bomb, from what Sylar did. I see the few good Samaritans helping each other out, carrying boxes of canned goods and food to churches and shelters. I see a nervous man walking down the street, I hear on the news later that night that a convenience store was robbed on that street a few minutes after I walked through. I see stray dogs, feral and unafraid of humans due to being once domesticated, trying to ease their own pain and suffering while giving us one more reason to be afraid of the world.

I'm walking down the street, there's a dirty little girl asking for money, there's her father trying to hide in an alley. I give her ten dollars anyway. There's something ugly and something beautiful in every inch of this city. The ugly tries to devour the beautiful as the disease of pragmatism continues to spread like a plague. Soon everyone will be infected if we don't do something. People are trying to save the world... but they don't understand that there's no point in saving the world if we don't save ourselves.


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