I am the loneliest kind that fits most perfectly into the holes on the walls and cracks between the pavement. The 'others', they just exist. They walk around because they have business to attend to. They come and go. They do only what is required. But I stay. People like us, we stay.

We come out after the food turns cold, after the laughters between groups of after-hours rendezvous subside. We come out and find empty gaps to fill as soon as the restaurant crowds cease, when footsteps start to slow down. We camp within the cracks. We are contented in our solitude. We are the left-overs, the accidental, the incidental. We are the fragments of the city residing in the fragments of the city.