Old Friends

It's grey in midtown. The coulds drop so low that the skyscrapers are beheaded. The rain is cold and hard. People scurry around under umbrellas with steam bursting from between their lips. I always imagine that when it rains, the layers of grime will be washed away. We all shove orange peels up our noses at this little cafe near 72nd street. I hear that the citric acid is supposed to clear the sinuses. We don't look to clever though, sipping tea like this and snorting.