It’s always colder downtown- I did not realize, until I moved into the sunshine. Downtown is an ever cloudy day grey in the twilight of her years. She’s a bag lady carting around second-rate treasures murmuring sermons, “Could you give me a quarter?”
White hair jerking hands and jittering speech, downtown will tell your future in the bottom of Starbuck’s coffee cups. Downtown will read your past in the stock market and smell your present in the cracks on the side-walk, overflowing with cigarette butts and stale urine.
Grandfather Time measures success in crusted vomit on the side of the street; an executive’s sixth martini. The frat boys drank vodka redbulls last night, but it’s their girlfriend’s kamikazes staining the curb.
I speak of just before dawn and far after sunset, the interim that knows no bounds. Here is in between, the bustle of the business day when all proud Americans are safely locked in their cubicles and corner offices, the urban dirt and decay. Here is the liver after moonlight when all good party boys and pop princesses retire into eachother’s arms to boff the night away.