There's an intersection where all the tired, worn out people meet: that woman on the corner, and the man on the other side of the cross walk, or the two kids who stand on the curb, staring at the traffic going by. Our hair is kinda messed up (it's the end of a long workday), and our clothes are, not shabby exactly, but looking like they could use a wash. Our faces are lined with worry and lack of sleep and being fed up with the cold and wet.
Because I'm here too, and they see me, seeing them, all of us having agreed lifetimes ago to meet here, knowing we wouldn't recognize each other, but paused here for a second as the lights change, and we pass out of each other's lives for yet another long age.
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