Rush hour choreography on a narrow stage,
A dance of shopping bags and quiet rage.
One man stalled mid-stride to take a call,
While ten small lives must weave around his wall.
Sunlight slices stripes across the crowd,
Each face a story thinking thoughts out loud.
No one meets another’s hurried eye
We brush like pages as the minutes fly.
FE 16mm f1.8 GM
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