under a street lamp, the ground shudders,

steam rises from a grate, and suddenly,

a shabby man thrusts out his hand.

He offers you something small,

purpled like a bruise and oily

as a rubbed jewel in the gloom. 

Here, he winces and pleads.

You clear your throat to answer.

All you’ve wanted is a way to get

from here to there––preferably

the express, but now, a local

has come, and if you turn and leave,