I always came to this spot at the end of the day to see the dejected lady with the white face.
Her hands covering her face eloquently voiced the despair that died long ago in me.
Despair of skyscrapers waging a winning war against sunlight and air
Of stalls peddling junk food to growing children
Of store windows luring people to buy one more thing they did not need
The poor cheery flood lights could not dispel the loneliness from both our hearts.
Together, we waited for another sunrise to fill us with hope that the city would insouciantly crush.
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