You used to be so pure. You used to be so full. Full of life, wonder, and hustle. Now, the only hustle is from some white gangster in Northtown trying to get his pill on. Look...
...look at how busy downtown used to be. People purchasing goods. Shuffling about. A general zest for life. Go downtown today and you'll see shuttered business, doors and windows. Cold, grey architecture and lifeless storefronts. It has become an useless crossroad of despair and depravity.
There is so much more to life than one place. Something I understood early. Something some people never understand, or never choose to even consider. Home is home, I get that... but your real home is in your chest. Take it with you and go forth and adventure. Otherwise, you will have lived, bred, and died within the confines of your nest. I have flown.
Flight garners respect. Flight garners ambition. Flight garners exploration. Flight garners altitude.
Fledglings with broken wings and weak limbs have been eaten by my viscosity and hunger for life. You were tasty my friend. And in the end, I used your bones as toothpicks and your soul as a napkin. For this I am sorry and delighted. I feel no pain. I am black and white. You are confederate. I am the antitheses of what you hate, love and desire. All is well though as you are numb. You are Escanaba and you are dead to me.