It was a dark and dingy street inhabited by dark and dingy people.
Each house held its own dark and dingy secret. Each dark and dingy person held their respective secret closely to their chest.
They knew what they had in common, they respected the secrets of the others, no one judged for fear they too be judged.
In daylight they went about their business, heads bowed, eyes cast upon the ground least they draw attention and no one wanted that.
It was a street in which the abused and the accused lived side by side. Trauma and dysfunction were bed fellows for at night from every second house there was the unmistakable sound of tears being shed.
Together they found solace, support and a place to belong. In a dark and dingy street among other dark and dingy folk.