I'll do as the Romans do.
But then, in any city,
I'll think of you.
Your dirt.
Your smell.
The bitter cold.
Radiating heat.
Art so profound as to make you weep.
Neither cheap nor easy,
Yet one of the best things in life.
The dream of millions,
You draw them all,
Chew some up, and spit them out.
Others of us
You never let go.
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