Rolling dismal clouds,
and a stack of smoke closer than usual...
Fire escapes bind dirty, white buildings
and laundry dries on-top of shedding fences...
The people roam,
as if they have no place to go,
past graffiti stained walls
and towards the 7-11,
a friendly camel smiles down at me.
"who is that" I inquire from the passenger seat, baseball cap fastened tight.
" that's the very bad cigarette camel" my father replies, as we drive away.