rain dots the tops of
cars as I steer down the central shopping district, too early for the stores to
open and so it feels as if I strive through a ghost town, a few early risers
getting coffee, a few street urchins selling bottled water, while the huddled
masses still rest their weary heads in the deep sleep from doorways, sleeping
off habits and their hunger until the store keeps sweeps them away with the
litter, the rain clearing up the gutter except for night the debris as we wait
for the normal life to pick up after the nightlife ceases, and I think of you,
away from all this, free as a bird
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