Last Call for the Suburban Tribesmen

It’s midnight
or so the bells toll
one hour to last call
and all the late night drunks
eagerly check their pockets
for forgotten dollars
the street is painted with faces
subway clowns, high class socials, college students
and a few spots of homelessness
I walk slowly through curb based factions
maneuvering carelessly avoiding left over litter
like yesterday’s bad sandwich
it seems so surreal
as if I walked into a moment of time
dreamed up by Van Gogh
where the suburbs seem like obscure tribes
and downtown the village of the damned

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