A concrete artery,
a scar across the city's skin,
where revolutions bloomed,
and traffic's chaos reigns.
Not just a highway,
but a stage for history,
a witness to power,
a voice of the people,
a ribbon of memory, stretched taut.
The roar of engines,
a constant, urban drone,
a symphony of horns,
a ballet of brake lights,
a restless, metal river.
Ghosts of protests
linger in the air,
of yellow ribbons,
of...
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