You know things that are supposed to mean absolutely nothing to you.

Things in passing sort of speak. They are here for a moment, not necessarily pretty, just here, simple, untidy, unimportant, like an alley you have to walk through to get to the right street. It has an iron gate that has been crooked for a day less than it has been hung; it has a building, and another ambiguous building attached. It has an unassuming skinny tree pocking out over the fence. It has a couple of deep puddles.

You go through this alley in impatience, as it is not the prettiest sight, and it is not where you are supposed to be. Like in life, sometimes you are passing by stages that you believe are not supposed to make up a part of your life, but they are there on the way to better things. We never feel sorry for those alleys; we never show compassion to those stages of life. Why? Someone may be calling this alley home.