there are people
in the street running.
mobs
of people.
a crowd of frantic
souls
holding their
babies, running
with a look
of fear on their
faces. in a stampede
they run
knocking over
one another. pushing
the slow
and old out of
the way.
the sick and lame
have no chance.
all day and
all night they keep
coming, running.
running.
and it's only Monday.
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