You walk along, alone. The sidewalk is tagged, and the leftover debris of construction sites litter the streets.
It’s hard to know when things will change, or if they ever will. The city sits in constant flux, erosion and repair, the stresses of commerce wearing grooves across its asphalt paths.
A bandaged traffic light, broken down by time or abuse. Are these the same force? They are inevitable, this much is true.
Is there a way to know who left the suitcase? If they will return in search of it?
There can be no mistake, the one who dropped it was a lost soul.
Some things are better left on the sidewalk where they were found.
--Jingleheimer-- 