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Overpopulation Essay

It’s a dark, cold, rainy night. The wind chill can be compared to that of Arctic wastelands, only the rain won’t freeze and disappear upon contact to your skin, instead the freezing cold ice-rain pierces your flesh like a million needles. The cold doesn’t subdue. A dark, small, shadowy object can be seen scurrying across the unlit streets. This dreary atmosphere does Hell’s Kitchen in the New York ghetto no justice.

Just the sight of steam rising from sewer grills, the sound of gunshots in the distance, and the smell of rotten fish makes this an unsavory environment to be exposed to. The shadowy object seems to be on a mission. Looking back and forth as though being hunted by a beast of great stature, the shadowy object makes its way through alleyways, dank streets, and eerie overpasses. Shivering with each step it takes, the shadowy figure looks worn and used out from a night of wear and tear, and appears to be running out of gas. The spectacle of shadow finds a vacant, long deserted, decrepit wooden box, and immediately finds it as a place of seclusion.

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“So tired, how can I get home? I wish those gangstas never stole my bike” Thought Little Billy to himself, “Maybe Ill just sleep here for the night.

Just then, at that very moment in time, A dark looking man, wearing a black trench coat and boots, comes dashing down that back alley, running as fast as he could until he reached that wooden box, he suddenly came to a perfect stop about ten feet from Little Billy. Almost, as though paralyzed by fear, Little Billy just stares at the bizarre man with a petrified gaze. In return, the man simply stares back at the Belittled Billy, and hesitates before he speak, which seems like an eternity to one Little Billy.

“Hiya!”, said the man, in a friendly tone of voice. Little Billy opened his mouth as though to speak, but only to get interrupted by a prudent mystery man. “Lemme introduce myself, I’m Jim Sinepson, and I’m a fellow street bum.

What brings a nice little boy to these mean streets where homicide and illegal activity is prevalent?” Again, Little Billy began to open his mouth, hesitating and stuttering through sheer intimidation. “Well, I see that you’ve moved into this box here? Well, I’m not sure if this is the best box to spend your night in Yeah, my friend Bob was picked off here last week”

Little Billy, finally able to break through his inability to speak, breaks his silence and says,
“P-P-P-Picked off?”

“Yeah man, and the week before that, it was Jason but they didn’t actually get him IN the box, he tried to escape, they didn’t catch him until he got” Points with his finger, “Right there!”

“Who. does this?

“Ahh, my little naive friend, the assailants vary from crazy, maniacal murders to fellow street bums just looking for a better place to stay, the last particular attendant was picked off’, but don’t let that discourage you, I’d say they wont find you for a few days or so.”

A very frightened Little Billy looks Jim up and down, “Uhhhh how can I get away from them? I’m lost and I need to find my way”

“Ahh, you’re a little boy that decided to run away from home due to a petty offense in the home of some sort, I’m guessing you either forgot to take out the garbage or got a bad report card. I’ve seen thousands of people like you in my day, and they always end up around here Ya know, there’s only a 5% survival rate among little children who run away from their parents in this ghetto. Luckily I found you, so I can lead you home and make sure your not just another statistic.

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“F-F-F-Five percent? Please take me home!” cried Little Billy, showing nothing but frustration and regret.

“Ahh. the way home, first before we begin our travels let me ask you a question have you seen any people in your little visit here to my neck of the woods?” Jim sees Little Billy’s vacant look. “Didn’t think so do you know why?” Before Little Billy is able to answer, Jim .

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Overpopulation Essay
Artscolumbia
Artscolumbia
It's a dark, cold, rainy night. The wind chill can be compared to that of Arctic wastelands, only the rain won't freeze and disappear upon contact to your skin, instead the freezing cold ice-rain pierces your flesh like a million needles. The cold doesn't subdue. A dark, small, shadowy object can be seen scurrying across the unlit streets. This dreary atmosphere does Hell's Kitchen in the New York ghetto no justice. Just the sight of steam rising from sewer grills, the sound of gunshots in th
2020-05-15 03:20:56
Overpopulation Essay
$ 13.900 2018-12-31
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