Not that many people that have come up from the streets get to grow old. The forgotten litter the streets, becoming nothing more than background noise in a bussling city landscape. Recepticles that were intended to store trash become makeshift homes. Junkies poisoning themselves leave behind not legacies, but crumbs. Stone building facades store echoes that, if you listen close enough, you can hear it’s past owner counting the police vehicles blaring down a nearby alley. Legend has it you can still hear the chorus of children chanting this song:
Sweeping the light away
On my way to where the air just reeks
Can you tell me how to get
how to get away from Sesame Street.
This post was brought to you by the letter W and the number 2.
A veteran puppeteer, who played a feathered fellow, battles his ego and attempts to find his way back to a certain furry and friendly street. This is ‘Big Birdman.’
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