This street is walked by 2,
in busted sneakers that let
muddy water leak slowly into
socks with a stain.
They turn a corner;
brick juts out and protects
their faces from any approaching
rats in the alleys.
Guns in their back pockets.
A car without headlights
swerves close. Stops.
2 take a hit and a bit of cash,
tip their hands upward,
continue to creep along the
lining of the night.
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