I would like to register my indignation, my outrage, and my frustration to the nearest kind voice, please.

The kind voice would hear me out, much as a shadowy uniform in an alley, or a police cap silhouetted against a painted brick wall would. And either kind or abusive it always ends in handcuffs dunnit. Handcuffs and whuppings.

And always the realization the next step won’t be the last.
Always chancing closer the shadow.

To the kind abusive voice which watches on the agony and torment stiff and hard from the alleys and walls surrounding this pit I would make it known I do not appreciate the never-ending struggle.