There are millions of people out on the street
Celebrating in the heat that rips
Rain that scars
Some are shouting
Some crying
Some walking
Some killing
Most are shopping
He's changed the world a few times over
At 172, he's old, by himself looking into the sea
Loved ones scattered as faint mist in neigbourhoods that evaporated long ago
He is thinking whether he should eat the fishes for dinner
When everything ends
Including his weak memory for the future and no one on the street anymore
~apys
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