Daria's blog: "No Title Necessary"

heels click across a busy intersection...

it may look like love,

but instead reeks of a drunken stupor.

don't make eye contact with the homeless man,

or you'll quickly be talked out of your paycheck.

screams of the pretty drunks across the street

echo over the police cruisers,

honking horns from impatient cab drivers

drown out the bustle of the area.

and i came HERE for peace of mind?

the buildings have a colonial charm about them,

so textured and garish against

a tranquil night sky,

the view of the stars marred by city haze

and blinding orange streetlights.

There are trees lining the streets,

but planted by men and left for dead.

The cracked marble is like home,

a tarnished version of perfection,

while steam and funk from the sewer systems

waft above it into the air.

There's art on the walls,

some student projects most likely,

but they emanate sex and rage

like a third-rate pornographic fantasy.

But I'm content to sit in the cold,

sipping on my long-chilled chai,

wondering if you'll ever notice more

than just a friendly girl with a lonely smile.