I live at the dark end of the street, on the wrong side of town.
Burgundy St. had once housed the artistic community of Olympia City; it was a hive of creativity, a bubbling, melting pot, but now the closest the majority of it's residents got to Art was a daily splattering of their porcelain bowls with shit belonging to the night before. It was sad state. A sight for sore eyes. A sore on your sad sight. It was nowhere.
I was there because I had nowhere else to be.
I began the long walk towards the city, towards civilisation. As I rounded the corner of 22nd & 2nd I had the distinct feeling I was being followed....