Waiting.
For no one in particular.
Maybe something comes up.
It's a slow evening.
Not that it was supposed to be anything but.
Waiting.
Maybe someone comes by.
Somebody he knows.
He checks around.
Not looking for anyone in particular.
No glances at the watch.
No interest in the people getting out of the cabs stopping.
Just looking around. Hanging out.
About.
Maybe something comes up.
Not that it ever does really.
If you can make it New York you can make it anywhere.
But not tonight.
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