He is sitting among
the bulbs of a flickering
marquee.
"It's my woman," he says,
like lawyer would pursecute.
"She's took my coat and
now I'm cold with my windy
cancer eating me up like
nibbles. What'll I do?
Wander?
Wander listless?
On these these
happy happy city streets-
dodging bullets?
The Smiles of Children and Bright
Flashes of Bright
Cameras- I think I'll
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