It wasn't that nobody didn't understand the innocence of children, just nobody cared. They were asked to keep secrets way beyond their years, terrible secret burdens foisted upon them by blood and gun, shake downs and take downs, when all that should have been their keep were little raggedy dolls and horses made from mop sticks with harnesses of string.
In the wrong place at the wrong time, cowering in a dirty doorway only to get splattered with the internal juice of some unknown shadow in dingy piss laden halls, that got washed away in the tub's used water with the dust and grit of daily play. The shivering mistaken for the cold water, was really shock in the wide staring eyes that relived it in the back room of their mind, that thankfully someday would eventually get posted in their subconscious, like another cut mark on a cowboy's gun.
Terrible burdens of prostitutes getting beat and thrown back on the sidewalk to ply their wares once more in the heroine haze that used to be their minds. Burdens of the junkie in the alley slapping dead veins just one more time to take a hit. Burdens that couldn't even be unloaded when the cops came and asked, and they knew.
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