strangers' shadows

whyte avenue, a land of scintillating smells and ringing bells of innocence. last night under stolen stars we drove its twinkling lanes, past the funky pickle and monkey island, the tattoed arms and legs and begging souls with their cans for clinking change. the blind man and his obedient dog, the street person selling street people's poetry, smiling with gaps in his teeth like the world could knock him over but he wouldn't care. we'd been to the Wok Box, where we ate expensive asian food looking out over a park full of people. and you told me of the greek island where cobblestone streets and horsedrawn buggies, crowded by shops and culture, still exist. as we cruised away we saw a girl jamming to her own tunes, head bopping, mouth moving, and i ached and laughed and inwardly decided to be more like her. life is experienced within the shadows of strangers' influence.