γ €silhoutte: π©»β ²γ €vol. 1998
(architecture of the unkempt)
\
γ €as the traffic lights bleed red and gold
across his face, he finds a solitary bench.
ββββββββββββββββββ
he doesnβt belong to the polished glass towers or the hurried suits; he belongs to the grit, the late-night diners, and the echoes between buildings.
/ λλΉ; 11 faint white lines across
his knuckles, trophies
of a physical life. β .. π