A city is vacant yet people live in their tents, boxes, and sleeping bags. Unshaved men gather around a barrel of flames to warm hands gnarled and unclean. Unclean spirits dancing in the dirtiness of freedom are hungry with palms up and the stigmata of need brandish them. They are the silent voices of the world. Do you hear them? No. Each marble has a hole in which to hide. Do not take that away.