The westside sticks to scarred underbellies of threadbare sneakers;
distant skylines fall below skinny backsides as rows of folded lids view the neon pho pot puffing pixelated steam;
an off-white ash tilts from a damp, smoldering cigarette like a dirty cat in the hat;
rallying hoots crackle from a radio and a radiant cashier gulps and yelps when the home team scores;
a couple is clipped by an arctic freeze and their arthritic merger disavows eros;
lines of girls drape silky arms through angled elbows as bronzed jaws move in comedic sync;
beneath a buckled bench checkered with gleaming ads sleeps a man curled like an embryo ensconced in a sheet;
someone shouts along the sloped sidewalk; last call for happy hour on a nondescript weekday;
a man rubs the belly of a
buddha key chain and
ransacks gritty pockets
for three dollar bills.
Well done!