I wrote this for my fresman english class at Georgia State before I transferred to SCAD. That would put the creation date around January of 1993. As always this is my shit, don’t steal it or I will sue your ass, unless you give me credit and a big fat percentage of anything you make. 

 I walkout of the blinding sunlight and into the dark, the smell of exhaust fills the air. It always seems damp down here as if there were an underground stream running directly under my feet. There is a stream, actually its more of a trickle of bleary eyed human forms stumbling forward to get a quick fix to satisfy their new found addiction, caffeine. The light, that escapes the surface and forces it’s way down this far, is dim and scattered, but it’s presence is one of the few ties to the world above and the reality I have come to know. The sounds that permeate the air are muffled and deep, in a word cavernous. There is the constant sound of heavy machinery on the street above that is occasionally broken by the sound of distorted voices filtering down from the surface to the grime where I stand. I like this place it hides nothing. It always tells the truth. The beams of the street above are not hidden behind colored metal. The voices that can be heard are only vaguely human as the beings that are creating them above are only vaguely human. This is the kind of place where I can watch the world, be myself , and enjoy my existence without the outside world shoving a lie down my throat.