On Russell Street where broths arise,
Steam curls beneath the dusky skies.
Each door a portal, warm and wide,
To ramen dreams that boil inside.
A gentleman in sweater thread,
With thoughtful steps and quiet tread,
Descends the lane in twilight's art,
And bites into a humble tart.
Its filling sweet, its crust so fine,
A subtle dance of fruit and brine.
While savory scents around him float,
He savors both—what shops promote,
And sweetness crumbling at his throat.
So moves he through that evening fair,
With tart in hand and ramen air—
A fusion walk of taste and time,
On Russell’s road, half prose, half rhyme.
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