You walk the well-trodden path through the centre
And despair the arrogance of yet another cretin
Clearly lacking in common courtesy and yet
Surrounded by a following of at least ten.
You stop, a short distance away, to retie
The dissenting shoelace as you kneel in rice
Spilled by the busy crowd partaking in their daily rite
Of busy rat-races and worrying about rent.
So much like you, just average people who tire
Of the lives of which they are the greatest critic.
A colourful character offers to “reveal the fates in a trice!”
But you remain, defiantly, disparagingly reticent.
Just another day in the unforgiving city.