Concrete sonnets 1

The night held it's regular geography lesson and you could identify the different ethnicity of the tenants by the flavors that hung in the air. He could imagine "why don't you tell the whole neighborhood" being said in five or six different languages that interrupted his thought. Windows remained open on a hot steamy summer night and life demanded you eaves drop, it was almost as if the more people that shared it's little maladies the easier it was for all to bear.

Street lamps served to illuminate the hopes for an inside straight as tables were placed beneath them. Six players times forty hours a week and the stack of money would only get you a petit larceny charge.
Life wasn't a paying proposition.

If you were chosen to run to the corner store for their beer your payment might be the nickel deposit, but more often then not to be allowed in on the latest dirty joke was sufficient payment after which you didn't wait to be dismissed, you knew to leave.
Growing up in the city was like attending school day in and day out. lessons were not taught, you were expected to observe and absorb.

He had earned his diploma, it was tucked away in the memories and scars.
"Heads" he said to himself and smiled, everybody knew heads meant downtown. He made a left as he crossed the avenue.