there is no parking
in the neighborhood,
but there are seven empty
visitor spaces
available in front
of the 23 story building.
you go to the desk and beg
on bended knee for an hours
worth of time.
just one hour
to park, then you'll
be on your way.
no. the man behind the
desk says.
a woman beside you
getting her mail, wearing
a mink stole and
holding a poodle
agrees. we have rules
here. there are rules
everywhere. that's the way
it is, she says,
she plays with a string of
pearls around her long
old neck then kisses her
pink nosed dog
with runny eyes.
just one hour, you plead.
i'll give blood, you can have
one of my kidneys.
here's a hundred dollars,
you say, counting out
the cash on the counter.
I just need to go up
the elevator, visit someone
then come back down.
it will take me
no time at all, I promise.
no, they both say
in unison. no.
we're calling a tow truck
in one minute, so you'd better
move your car. we think
you'd better leave.
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