Traffic is all flow, bidirectional flow, a river of Audis, buses, bicycles, cabs, delivery trucks, all hastening, hastening. I train my eyes on the median for trash eddies.
She surveys the movement and is unmoved, adopting that great rolling mass as a constituency, addressing the never-standing glass and metal shapes, announcing her platform in resonant bellows.
“I ain’t payin no tickets. I ain’t payin no tickets.” Her fingers fling air into the air. “I said I ain’t payin no tickets.” Guffaw. “Ain’t payin. I ain’t payin no tickets.”