Another sun eases out morning on Forth Street, throwing a cleansing warmth over last night's stains and today's hopes.
Somebody's car got it last night, underneath the neon as the drunk boys with rice-flecked ankles wailed their battle songs.
Hungry people with a desperation in their grins, catching breath and a glimpse of escape. The going may be good, and tomorrow might be better than it probably will be.
The kerb peeks into the light, as if gasping for air in an aluminium nightmare. Under every wad of tapeworm beansprout is something even worse.
Picture: Miladamasio
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