...And what of that existance? Do you just battle through until you can go any further, until there's nothing to get up for in the morning anymore, nothing to look forward to. And the only looking you do is into a smeared mirror through eyes blurred with regret and wonder what life would have been like if this hadn't gone wrong or that hadn't gone wrong, or you'd never met him.
That's the saddest thing about this place, that whole all consuming feeling of apathy, of malaise, the stench of stagnation that hangs in the air like flies around the carcass of this estate. It's a bleak outlook, I know, but when you've walked down these cracked, darkened streets, looked into these hollow-eyed faces and finally closed the door to the sub-urban tomb outside again and again, it's hard to smile and think 'Home Sweet Home'.