New York City stranger –

He was a cash-strapped Bronx-born baby, hipster-fading looks and joy filled pockets empty.
Sparkling feuds with mirror images, blending away fading and folding skin, colour the grey out, taking past ages away, go, tighten up, loosen up, his love-shine brings good times back.
Leave for the memorial beltway, down stairwell, out through brown stone doorway, turn and turn again, cheaper as you get older, fifty minus eight, half past your life.
By us, trying for success, private means for auto-mobiles now a passing fancy, familiar territory.
Get there, sit there, wait there, flaunt there, hope there.
Dollars in pocket first, something out, over in five, leave for the memorial beltway, cash on hip Bronx-born baby.

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