Maundering

Rain-slick streets throwing back neon smears. Eyes that have seen near-endless iterations. The Street (as opposed to the street) moves through the same tired dance of commerce. Who's buying, who's selling, what's for sale, it's all been done and done long before my zygote days, and will be done and done long after I am unwise, unvaliant dust. Everything seems just a touch worn, grubby, tired.