An elderly woman, leaning on crutches, stands at a busy intersection. Her worn hat and layered clothing speak of years etched into her being, yet her face carries an expression of quiet endurance. Around her, life moves on distant figures engaged in their routines, oblivious to her presence. The stoplight above blinks indifferently, mirroring the world’s apathy. She is a fragment of a forgotten narrative in a city too fast to care.
Kraton Kush 
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