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.

The End

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