The hustling…

Days always count as hustling to feed the table tell the story of raggers that have been rag to wear rag cloth. Rag has being the nomenclature of doing without. This is not to mean, it is natural. It is stories that cover and picture how the many hustling of these raggers to crown the empty stomach, still, instead; it continues to get empty. While the front page title unending hustling, the content inscribe words which weigh the starvation, the dungeon, the broken pot, the heart that weep, the song of thorns, under the iron, why this? Today and tomorrow: its meaning, piles of soreness and colony of casualty.

These content is never detach from the written story of hustling the head won’t quench to thought of, and the words poetizing the continuity of still emptiness, even when the battle of bringing the burden down is still on shoulder. This is a memory that always flashes pain and squeezes all life out from life itself. The life the big shoe smashes and their hands take the surplus of the hustlers and raggers on the field by making the day frown.

Hustling is an intense readable background and history of the long agony which experience speak no lie of everyday life of how the faces continue to tell the real truth of sledge economy they in, which have characterizes the civilization of life of decivilization of existence. It is a column of reality that never speak double tongue of hustlers, whose hustling has being colonalize with bundles of day and night misery mount on the head of this class that hustles and remain, still, on squalorism.