Hobo Town Hall....

Underneath a cemet overpass Fire's burn in discarded oil drums shadowy sillouettes huddle in circles, flame flickering light dances it's heat seemingly mesmerized are those,as they watch the rising cinders float above like their dreams of past charred to ashes... Empty bottles strewn at their feet the voice at the bottom of glass doesn't hold the same magic as it first did when they wrapped their lips on it's top, empty hollow sounds,coming from even more so,empty hollow spirits.... Town hall of a different sort gathering of a different community action if you want to call this action... ...but,a different kind of gathering all the same, same action....different town....