Bottle cap kids.
 

EDIT: FUCK, wrong section. I'm tired.

There is no real aim to this. It sucks, but I wanted to write something eh.

The street was filled with misfits, that night, and there was a terrible
buzzing in my ear, kind of like feedback.
As I walked, I saw children with bottle caps in their shoes dancing to some fatalistic tune
and a madman, shaking a dead flower, screaming.
The street was filled with life that night
and it filled me with life too, somewhat,
except for when I saw the man with the broken accordion.
He was sitting on a stair, weeping, weeping over the dead remains
of what had once made a beautiful sound.
I walked over to him, and said-
"Why do you weep over an accordion?"
and he said, through stifled tears-
"I'm not crying about an accordion.
"I'm crying because I am the accordion."
I didn't understand.
I kept walking, and I sat down on a bench. It started to rain, and I still sat, sat until I was drenched down to the bone,
pelted by fat water bombs.
All of the people gathered.