the same guy with the shabby blue striped sweater, he creeps around the bus shelter, composing his face into earnest expressions, just needing a quarter, but i see the dissatisfaction when only a dime is offered up. i see him drinking an orange juice from rite-aid later, looking disgusted and he folds himself down onto the sidewalk, the knees of his jeans rubbing away into nothing.

the lady skittering herself across the crosswalk in her wheelchair, the legs like two awkward ski poles. she shakes a cup in a fast furious rhythm, she cusses when i pass by.

the old man walking carefully down 5th, in a snappy tuxedo shirt and pants with sharp creases. he holds himself fragilly, i wonder if he is going to work at a movie theatre, if his name is gus, if his hand would shake slightly when he takes my ticket to tear it.