Bring them from their knees and make speech- far from mutes. Petty is this test, but I find it necessary, needing to see who remains strong. I darken my eyes with dramatic lighting, feeling the loss of power seeping into the room. A group of boys, ranging from six to seventeen, will not see the facility the same after this evening- sometime in the late afternoon mixed with night. We function as a holding ground, a place for those who have no place to go. These boys, peasants, worth nothing more than the knife that would slit there throat, an afterthought. The walls were white, but the boys knew nothing of cleanliness, marking up the facility. The tragic nature of wasted adolescence; they were born premature men, spoiled sour my their inadequate parental situation. They were quiet souls naturally. I taught them to speak. I despised, pitied, then learned to love these creatures. This value holds true because these boys learned to love me; I became a parent.