He walked on an edge where thousands followed,

An edge where no one ever asked to walk on.

A place with no future.

A place with small promise.

An atmosphere covered in sick scented smoke.

A lifestyle forced to be lived,

Losing merely a thousand pounds per day.

The lack of freedom,

Justice,

Bread,

Water,

Surrounded by the thick black smoke of howling chimneys.

Caged up like animals,

Fed on a schedule.

Treated like no more than a piece of garbage.

Thousands could only think about death.

Hot.

Mild.

Cold.

Frigid.

Many seasons passed,

Several years dragged by.

Few lives were spared,

But the rest had died.