a smile, imagine that. a stubbed toe. the word “yes” written on a ceiling somewhere even now. a dump truck lumbering along. the mornings weather report, vauge and specific simultaneously. five hundred trillion corpses in the ground or more. a large coffee, light and sweet.

a cigarette. an empty briefcase at the curb. someone running for the train which has inevitably pulled away. a loud sneeze. a lost tourist. a pothole filled with filthy rainwater. a beer ad on a bus flank. pink six inch heels. a bottle in a wet bag. loves labor lost zipped in a fanny pack. an arm in a fresh unsigned cast. voyager1, floating eight billion miles from the sun. the third rail humming. a stopped watch held close to an ear. wet hair in rows bobbing down ninth street. a taxi in the crosswalk. curses under a woman’s breath. a wobbly chair. mint flavored toothpicks in a pile. chemtrails above the cloud cover. clashing colognes on the deli line. torn fishnet stockings. the taste of stamp glue, as the bills drop in the box. “no radio in this car”. picassos hung in a dark room. anarchy written on the sidewalk in chalk. someone sweeping a pile of hair at the barber shop. the hum of a motorized wheelchair. the mayor eating breakfast. a garbage can crammed with broken umbrellas. a dog in an argyle sweater. a woman in a green dress picking up wet shit with a plastic bag. used porn mags for sale on a blanket. homo erectus bones under glass… all this and the rain has only just stopped. work hasn’t even started.