I breathe grey air in spaces in between,
And whisky stings my tongue and bides the time,
In steps I aimlessly record the scene,
And cherish my misanthropy sublime.
Wandering the streets and alleyways,
Of this downtown, wherever I may be,
No need for love suffocating my days,
Alone but free to lie with honesty.
I let my flanerie in verses sing,
Excited to report that everywhere,
The happy tattered P.I.G. is living,
“The great imperative” of Baudelaire!