I pause to look at the dogs run, these tiny spaces of gravel
and phony grass, deposited at the foot of luxury towers, owners greeting each
other as do their dogs. I always stop to watch, the big dogs greeting small, as
the owners sit on cold benches to wait out the moment when their beasts release
all they’ve stored out all night and they (the people) can get on with their
lives, strip to work in Manhattan, poor kids can’t afford to attend, all
needing to wait for what needs to be done gets done, stern faces pretending they
are there for some other reason, suffering the delay their pets impose, anxious,
angry, desperate to leave.
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