‘While the sun mercilessly attacked the streets, I stumbled upon the steel veins of the city’s railway tracks, where the acrid smell of rubber mingled with exhaust fumes and the grinding sound of confidence. Graffiti is scattered throughout the train cars, with everyone giving the middle finger.

In those ungodly hours, as the city reluctantly awoke from its slumber, I clawed my way from the depths of sleep, burdened by the weight of the day ahead. My morning ritual began with the mechanical whirr of the coffee machine, promising a fleeting respite from the impending chaos. The aroma of Nescafe instant coffee and Winston cigarette hung thick in the air, a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

Trudging along the train tracks and platforms, survival and art melted into one. Real-life vignettes unfolded, where hope flickered in the shadows, betrayals leaked out, and creativity erupted like a wildfire. Each snapshot captured a moment in time, where every detail told a story of its own.

As I flipped through the archival shots of my existence, nostalgia washed over me on this twisted journey. Each photograph seemed like a glimpse into a dream, a surreal echo of the past. I felt the pulse of the tracks beneath my feet, my mind unraveling with each passing train stop. This story wasn’t just about graffiti; it was the visceral retelling of our lives, painted with blood, sweat, and a dash of reckless abandon...’