Meandering through the drudgery of an urban, technology dependent, working-class, non-descriptive life, you seek contours and colours. Instead you find a flat, sun-scorched, burnt diesel-fumed nothingness. Every morning the front page news makes you wonder where we are headed. Your fist clench when you read about women being raped, children dying having eaten a simple midday meal, aeroplane disappearing, bullets flying in the heartland and yet a little red flower growing on your tenth floor apartment balcony fills you up with inexplicable joy. Hope in the midst of despair, love in the times of hatred, compassion in the face of intolerance. Still free is what the human spirit is, still refusing to budge.