“Hurt people, hurt people”, and that’s a screwed up environment! Like, how the mother of two sets of twin girls abandoned in a rundown motel did. Hurt has no aim sometimes and it also has no name. We must first find the root and than find ourselves. There is no medicine for the hurt. It’s just blossoms like a new born child on her fourth birthday. Somehow the beatup young child grew up and beat his wife. It travels through time! It always seems to find me, no matter how far I run!