"I hate this city," she told me one day.
"It's a dump--for garbage and people.
It's a torture to walk through these streets
Knowing that this is the place I call home.
No one cares about the litter in the gutters.
No one cares about the smoke in the air.
This place smells and feels like a sewer.
I can't wait to get out of here, because it sure as hell isn't going to get any better.
I wish people would listen for once instead of continuing to turn our city into garbage."
And with that, she took her third cigarette from her lips and pressed it into the pavement with her shoe.