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Fucked from birth

This morning, in the park, I saw a little boy fall out from his buggy.
His “guardian” was sitting with an assortment of ragged, drunk, and “ill” people. “Aw Naw, Aw naw” the adults kept saying. The “guardian” swayed around on unsteady feet trying to pick up child, buggy and coke can with one hand while holding onto a beer bottle with his other hand.
Ugly, yes – just like you see in cities the world over – and lets face it this kind of social disgrace is common and prosaic enough without this humble add on. But what got to me was the boy – barely two years old – fell back from a buggy and hit his head and his elbow off the concrete path – and not a single peep from his injured mouth.
He looked up with a look half sullen, half filled with fear and tried not to make eye contact with his “guardian”
Maybe it is because i am the father of a two year old. Maybe it was because it was a Monday morning and i had been away from the city for a few days… but this hit me raw and sore and i was filled, I mean FILLED with sorrow and disgust and helpless rage. A child of two already understands that for him to make a noise, to show pain, is a potentially fatal move. Where does he sleep? What does he see? How long before he heals over completely and becomes unreachably cold, loveless, and dangerous?

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