The streets scream with unbridled joy.
They are a bird in a cage that has just broken the lock.
They are a stallion in a pen who has spent their
life staring at the mountains,
whose legs have finally found the momentum to
                      Run.
They are a man in the desert,
                      Thirsty and Starving,
who has found himself a banquet in a rainstorm.
They reach their hands into the sky,
praising the sun and the moon and the stars
and God, whoever that may be.
They collapse onto their knees,'
head in their hands,
overwhelmed by a newfound
                    Hope
they haven't felt in four years.

They live again.

The streets are humans united with the knowledge that maybe,
just maybe,
they will be okay.
There is a long way to go still,
but streets are made to get from one place
to another.

We have broken out of that cage.
We are running toward the mountain.
We will soon eat our fill of the banquet laid out
for the hungry, the thirsty, the poor, the sick,
the dying, the naked.

There is a long way to go.
But for now, we sit in traffic on the street and
honk our horns and
raise our hands and
celebrate.

The streets scream with unbridled joy.