Rain came down and washed the streets. Cleansing them from the night before. A night when lovers walked holding hands for one last time. Drunks staggered home to nothing but an empty soul. And junkies hide in corners. Some in dark dense downstairs basements of buildings condemned. A shooting gallery for the down and out. While others just lay on sidewalks waiting for sunlight; some kind of hope.
And meth-heads chatter teeth, rattle bones, pick at skin; scabs. Old wounds. The flesh is weak.
Whores go home at sunrise. Night is over. They clock out on Grand Avenue taking busses to the North side where they live in one room apartments, back seats of cars and cheap hotels. God have mercy on us all.
A rain came down and washed the streets. Sins have gone away until the next day and the day after that.
The moon leads us in bad directions. Foolish mistakes. Errors in judgement.
We wait for the son. We wait for the son.