There is magic under my feet, a wealth of visual excitement commanding my attention. On the street and in doorways, people cover my subjects. I wait anxiously. Soon it will be my turn to touch and stroke the premises. Boldly I rub the cracks and crevices of street remnants. They tell me a story as I take position of their reference. My eyes are clicking. I search for amusement and folly. I search for meaning. People scramble and miss all the juice. I savor every impression as they are revealed to me. This is the talk of the streets. And I am the only one listening.
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