Every great artist needs a canvas, and this neighbourhood is crammed with artists that have nothing other than these walls.
They said we were nothing and showed not the smallest seed of love, and so our souls threw chaotic and crumpled rainbows onto the walls, onto the high vaulted ceilings of the subways and bridges that allowed the belching cars to flow over the waterways. The thing is, in that broken mess that we were, we could still feel our hearts, feel that rhythm that is inborn, and in our art, in our music, in the way our feet met the ground each day... we knew we'd win, it was simply a matter of how long it would take.
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