Spring blew in and around Macktown and voices became familiar again. A reconnection with the life this city has to offer and discoveries were being made that would make the future something bearable. Eyes watching, ears waiting to learn, and feet taking steps in directions that at one time were off limits. Still eerie evenings with something in the air and past faces showing up from around the corners; reminders, bad memories, heads hung down. Heated mornings brought an unwelcomed summertime of vengeance, tempers, pride and all that. Take this and that, pay backs, push downs, get back ups, turn arounds, barbecues, red pop, cousins and days at the park. Leaves fall, people do to, wind changing cycles kids on bicycles. The streets quiet down, the bricks yawn for another season. White brightness covers us and keeps us warm and the voices in the head go from outside to in. Another year, another dollar, pressing hard against the hand. Macktown greets another three hundred and sixty-five days and ain't nothing changed. We will not bow down, we will not submit, we will never go back into the oppressive pit. Get the hell out of my face you mean-spirited spirit, you lost, confused case. Our souls are determined to rise from the dead and make our own ways and lie in our own beds, put on our own shoes and walk the streets beneath our feet, our mothers and fathers so proudly laid down for our children and our gray hairs and all the despair we try to bury. Go by days, go by. Move quickly ahead another fifty-two weeks, we need our future right now, and our children do too.