You hold out here for six months. Never seeing the outside world except threw the narrow drainage grates of the curbs. You live on waste but you are wasted as a result. You grow thin and palid. Your looks are gone and they will never return. Your skin a red skirmish of blotches. Finally you are too sick to walk, to week to do anything but lay on your back and struggle for breathe. But the place you are laying is where the rush hour liquid shit wave roars threw soon. You need to get up and be gone. You cannot rise and you think you are going to die.