I must stop. Write. Legibly.

Greyed tar man, barely discernible from a backdrop of city smudge. He carries an umbrella, a peeling roll of wallpaper, its colours muted by his homeless grey shading of everything. His delinquent brother strides like a failed prophet in his jay-walk, rebellious shoulders punched back, his dark beaded eyes hopping lifeless trails in long exposure. Black-bird carrion eyes. A complement to hooked nose really. And all of this contrasting with the girl in the red sweater. She texts and indian-sits at her bust-STOP, radiant in her womanly hips and exotic winter blushed face. I must stop. Write. Legibly.