North Ave. Two South.

The North Avenue MARTA station
is quiet at ten. Only some sound
that sounds like the wind, but
you know that it isn't it. Then again
it could be almost anything. Mishaps
have been the flavor of the day.
It don't taste like any flavor I know.

People are showing now at ten past.
I feel the train coming fast, but
still slow enough to stop. If it stops.
Seems like nothing's guaranteed anymore.
It's such a bore.
I don't feel like a tourist anymore.

This place is slow at night;
almost as if it were taking
a deep breath, exhaling.
"He's anti-social, " I hear this lady say.
I wonder if she's speaking of me
or just this damn city. It's a pity.

It is anti-social.