I lay facing the curtainless window staring at the hotel across the street
The speckles of light from the rooms still awake makes me wonder: What’s going on in each lighted room?

Needles blackening veins, pockets filled with cigarettes and a room card.
Alcohol freshly refrigerated and pockets filled with condoms from the general store down the street home to those passed with silent urgency.

Those isolated on these city streets scratching at the walls, shaking the gates, living day by day waiting, scrambling for the key hidden in the cracks of these streets.

Those overlooked by individual’s eyes buried in their touch screen phones or phonily fascinated by the beauty of the city because the chances of receiving eye contact or a thank you are too high when they reach in their pocket and toss the spare coins from this mornings coffee order in the empty cup.

The expected return of gratitude is enough to trigger the uncomfortable sorrow pain in their stomach as they walk away, which makes the charity unreasonable.