Why did that metal ball of corruption swing through the home of our culture? It stood there, full Of its own cracks and slivers of dirt embedding through its walls. The local “Mecca” of markets Sitting making the base of the structure shine with hope. Grandfathers and uncles sharing their Vast knowledge to one another below the awning of that red, white, and green polyester that kept The neighborhood safe from those gentrification demons that destroy our worlds. I still see them, Laughing and sharing their universes amongst each other. Although their houses may have left, Their homes never did. The smell of Caldo and Quesabirria still drifts its way all the way up to My own nose, through those copies of millions of the same architecture. 

Now the so called “Highly educated businessmen", sit in their freshly painted white apartments On brand new furniture that was just bought from the Amazon Prime store, 

While they call their unhappy wives to tell them they need to work on their “MacBooks” for the

Entirety of dinner.

Walking in the streets, you don’t see any food stands or vendors taking up the whole sidewalk, The air will never flow in the same way again, never like it used to.