The strong scent of whiskey on a tall man's breath, his palms sore and near numb from holding a series of glasses full, hours and hours of one drink after the other. All rhythm in his step has broken, like the strings on a violin bursting from comfort as they can no longer take the bow's whips. Such a man of former dignity was left a helpless stray as music and flashing lights fill his blood, as if dozens of needles pricked him and injected the nearest plant they could find. His pace was uneven and messy with the sound of pitter patter. Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. Splash! This is sometimes the result of a drunkard. It is as if the alcohol tries stopping others from drinking everything up, but the humans they contain are not stable enough to help. The frazzled man is fairly blurred in vision when he runs into the young woman of silver and gold, though the silver was not wet and uncomfortable. He can't hear her, nor can he see or feel her, but his instinctual gut tells him what to do. As if it was a fist of iron, the man crosses far across the woman's face until blood shoots from her mouth and nose. How dare a drunkard touch such a young and wealthy lady as she? Her nails, like tiny daggers of the Greek Gods, slash across the face of the drunkard as she throws her glass shattering to his feet. This said misconception became a war between heavy and light, a war between wealth and poverty. You see, the woman's wine was white and rich as the man's beer was cheap and better off wiped from the behind of a jackass. When the poor hurts the rich, the rich will interfere and cause damage to the little things of the poor than worsen their suffering. It is as though one thing, no matter how small, accidental, or unnecessary, can cause the oppressors to oppress. It is as though a child with no sense of right or wrong is given near triple the damage they gave off. This is what happened in the little bar down my alley. I've seen this continuous war, despite the blood and gunfire. That was when I learned how one little argument or tension can lead to the downfall of people around it. Oh, how painful it is to hear of this happening so often. Oh, why must the cruelty of diversity be so often stimulated by the hatred of a powerful portion? That is something we may never know. Still, when the war has ended, the supposed weaker has shed the least blood. How can this be? I'll tell you. The hurt will eventually be the victorious, for they have learned to adapt to endless turmoil and suffering that the world's people has set out for them.