These streets call this name out loud,
A lovers hand we walk in time.
Browns and pigeons and fixies that
Catch our cycling hearts alight.
A beggar shall be at once alarmed
At how quickly we pass him by,
And all the same we run into
The slowest walker of the three.
Hunger bites at opportune,
The journey’s point and now the stop,
Coffee beans and toasted triangles
A hunger fed and to be led.