Life: I love children

Somewhere brightness is hitting just above the crest of a young boy’s head. Balls fly towards a pair of dirty shirts placed deliberately as goalposts. Some children use fragments of old rocking chairs or useless bed pans, or homespun quilts. Anything to separate goal from field is sufficient. The poor ones recycle bundled trash for a ball and dangerous alleyways for in-bounds. They are desperate children in hopeless conditions playing with frantic smiles. And I love them for it.