Ούτε εγώ.

They used to ask where are the good people? I haven't heard that one in a while. Looking around it's not so much the violence and deception that gets to me but the indifference. A head chopped off, rolls down the street and drips blood into a gutter. Nobody seems to notice. As if a rat just ran across the road. A piece of trash in the wind. It's not that nobody notices that it's a head, it's that nobody cares. When I was a child, one would walk down the street and recognize faces. There wasn't ...