It was midnight. There was no clock to strike, but the everlasting words of Tupac filled the abandoned palace “I see no changes, all I see is racist faces, misplaced hate makes disgrace for races; we under. I wonder what it takes to make this one a better place… let’s erase the wasted. Take the evil out of the people, they’ll be acting right.”
We had discovered what we now called ‘The Palace’ a few months before. It was a massive old shed that was used to store trains fifty years earlier. Inside it looked like some sort of ancient murder house. Rusted chains hung from the ceilings, echoing mystery. There was a platform about thirty feet high and accessed by a wooden staircase that lunged from side to side as you climbed them. The part of the roof above this platform had been burnt away years ago and through the vast gap you could see the entire town. When we found it, my friend Abigail and I jumped in my parent’s four-wheeled drive and headed to the tip to find furniture for our hidden palace. We scavenged old go cart seats and nailed them onto the platform. Behind a bent out plank of wood we hid our magic; a bong, a mirror, scissors, and a rolled up ten dollar note.
