Lean times. Leaner now. Humans hoarding their pizza, nary a crumb to be sloughed onto the pavement. Greedy, they lick it up.
Gotta work harder. Can’t rely on stray pita chips. Nobody leaves a half-empty beer on a bench in the winter. Empty carbs.
Gotta be a song and dance man. Gotta melt hearts through the magic of entertainment. No more trash in the gutters. Winter, coming out of the shadows to dazzle. Kid eating a halal plate in the corner. Time to strut my stuff. Flick a rice bit my way.
Not as agile as I used to be. Used to be, able to flip, hop and jump enough that babies would squeal, drop a zwieback on the platform. Nowadays, gotta muster the energy to run halfway up the pole. One time. No reward? Scurry off the train. Gotta wait for the next one.
Big payoff: a Welch’s Fruit Snack. Popcorn kernel. Decimated Subway six-inch. Roll around in that one, mayo on the flesh. Tough life, but it pays to be a song and dance man. Showbiz in the big city. Some sell out, become a husk. Song and dance man does it for the love.
