A girl is standing on the deserted street, her dark eyes looking off into the distance, her blonde unkempt hair hanging lank and oily from under the large black beanie. Draped over her thin frame, a black hoodie swallows her up, making her seem even smaller than she already is. She holds a lit cigarette between her chapped lips and takes long drags of smoke that surrounds her in a faint haze. The dark circles under her eyes stand out against the pallor of her skin, and the tears streaming down her face seem uncontrollable - an outward manifestation of the despair roiling within.

The sound of music from her headphones laces through the air like an ethereal presence: moody and slow-paced. Her mind is wandering aimlessly yet again, lost in the void, which consumes everything within it.

As you pass her on the sidewalk, her dull eyes raise up to meet yours. You get just a glimpse of a deep well of sorrow, a weariness that extends beyond her years. In a voice hoarse from lack of use she says monotonously, barely above a whisper.

Beautiful night today. Too bad none of it matters.