My hand writes what ears are to busy to hear and mouths are too afraid to say.

We are crammed into a building, seven families in one. One family barely surviving, one flying away on drugs, the other rising above bringing them down. Two families are fighting for space and tranquility. One family has no where to go and then another is all alone. Together we work to make the best of what we have. All around us things are bad. We see people dying, of poison, of hunger, of sadness. This is the life of America’s “lower” middle class. This is our apartment. -Ashley Mae


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