Perhaps it's only a definitive topic to the folks who walk the streets of Vancouver. And maybe I could shed light to those who don't, who have never heard or read the tragedy of the poorest postal code in Canada. I live right in the beating heart of it. Ironically I pay a grand a month for my shoebox studio. The junkies pacing outside my window spend that on drugs in a week. Our government pays for some of it. Welfare cheques, probably near a grand a month. But after that runs out, and it does quickly, within days, they beg and plead rich strangers for forgotten change. I always felt that the heavy percentage of society's negligence would discourage the pan handlers from begging. But no, and then I humble my sensibility and forgive myself for never being able to really understand or feel the way that the desperate do. Hundreds of unwashed souls in my community who beg for change beyond any decimal of shame. They must have had to get over themselves. As I see, they dwindle into fractions of humans and the remainder of savages. No morals, nor reason. Just the night to take away any blessed qualities that your mother had granted you. 

Hastings. Fuck, this place is really not for the faint of heart, or moreso mind. The weak watch from the brink, then get tricked in, then flirt with the vanity of vice, then fall tragic prey to the unforgiving human existence.

You see, there are alot of mothers and sisters, brothers and daughters that are aimlessly wandering these echoes. Each is one needle closer to their death.

So my empathy takes to war my apathy. If it's not one person you offer change to. If it's every person that aske you for change, there still remains a thousand more.

It's not change they could really benefit from, it's change.

I urge you all to go to a currency exchange and trade in your dollars, quarters and pennies for sympathy, understanding and salvation.

Our thousand dollar studios are disabling the classes pace.

'Greed is a bottomless pit, our freedom's a joke were just taking the piss'

Wonder, do these homeless/junkies ever challenge their freedom?

As I was whisked away from Hastings by the number 10, I caught one transcending glimpse at a poster that stood boldy announcing 'Freedom is Slavery'

I kept that small smile as I passed the carnival at Carnegie Hall.