the only thing that pierces the haze of conversation and greasy glass windows is the light of the moon. ever constant.
preteens to the right, hot pink purse carelessly strewn on the gray carpet
middle aged minimum wage worker behind, talking listlessly
"my parents raised me better"
children sleeping, angry birds screeching
the glow of laptops for the always working
pass the stop at millbrae, no transfer for SFO
keep heading rail-straight
to Silicon Valley IPOs
Off at hotel California where the bus awaits
the evolving Palo Alto landscape - home -
drawn out on your calculating face
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