With Apologies To Jack London

"Church St. people of the abyss." A pancake breakfast in Jericho, through the melt and the muck we decided to go. Wiping our boots at Church St. and Pearl, We entered at risk as profanity hurled. Through the hopeless, the helpless, the homeless in plight, flipped a quarter in the air to a beggars delight. Under Holiday lights still up in Spring, past guitars and people who think they can sing. With seagulls awhirl, all the ground as their plate, a pierced and tatted girl, who feared she was late. The sweet spice aroma of venders with food, and a different kind of smell, from the Bus station dudes. Arriving at Main street and to our distain, surrounded by drunks as it started to rain. Now standing in puddles with thoughts where we`ve been, be a while before we shop, on Church St. again.