A long look in the distance into the eyes of some stellar bodied woman walking across the street of mixed colours and molten steel stealing past me at thirty to sixty tells me maybe I'm lonely.
The molten steel melds back into solids as the light turns red with an exchange of heat as the rhythms churned out by buskers don't match the rhythm of idle car engines.
Two tons of steel partitioned into moving parts and bits red hot with combustion and black-singed with exhaustion as their drivers remain motionless in their seats.
The woman is near me suddenly and I glance over her in a split-second of lust only to be met with a look of passing disgust that makes me feel mundane.
Red lights expend their heat back into the bulks of steel and the idling engines spin out waves of sounds moved up in half-steps and the molten fixtures move forward again.
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