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  • The rusty smoke from crumbling stacks,
    the cacophony of horns, the reeking dumpster
    behind a seedy bookstore.
    The buildings looming overhead,
    bending to block out the last rays of
    natural light.

    The all-night eateries and dingy cafés
    (Can I get a clean glass please?),
    shuffling steps, and slurred words over
    stale coffee at 3 A.M. on a Tuesday. The booth on the end,
    with its one flickering
    heat lamp.

    Long sighs, circles under eyes, hands running over
    stress soaked brows, and
    the pile of jaundiced cigarettes
    dumped last week to sit in the rain.
    A clot of cholesterol in the heart
    of the city.
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