We pass each other twice, at almost the same spot. I'm walking to the river and then returning to my car, parked at the front of a row of cars driven in from the suburbs.
I don't know where you are headed or where you have been. You don't lift your eyes from the street. Lost inside your thoughts, held captive behind wounded eyes.
All around us, the sounds of industry terraform the neglect. To me, the vibrations from the diggers carry the buzz of possibility. I can't help but wonder what you hear, though, in those sounds carried on the winds of change.