I see it all under the blue bus fluoros
watch the street signs pass by,
and just as common the lowly and the lofty,
the pigeons that sleep on the building ledges, safe from the gut of the street,
and the workers that slave over a steaming bain-marie standing for                                                                   ­                            hours and hours.
   At least it's better than the unforgiving cold of the pavement outside.
The idle girl sitting at the train stop, back as straight as arrows, head askance along the tracks to a train that is nowhere near.
She shows no fear, she knows these parts like she knows the bums that frequent the tavern where she works. 'They're harmless' she says 'lone rangers without a Miss Reid.'