Dead Ends

I wonder how someone so youthful could have possibly seen so many bleak streets

Rows upon rows of dead ends
Dark and narrow shortcuts aren't so short
The paving slabs cracked and overgrown
As though they've been there four a thousand years
Empty parked cars bleached white with frost
The Tarmac glistens with tiny pieces of broken glass
The curbs beaten down by the weight of heavy and careless feet

The busier side streets are no better smelling of cheap cider and littered with carrier bags
Cold bodies shove past and heads hang low under raised hoods
Feet clash and splash against the damp leaves and vile smelling solution crawling along the gutter and into the drains
Shop owners draw there shutters and street lights refuse to flicker

The main roads are bustling with bodies covered in shiny black bags
Mundane vehicles race past spraying dirty water into your eyes and mouth
The traffic doesn't brake at the cross roads and it doesn't brake for the small parcel of bones crawling desperately into the moving traffic

I wonder how someone so youthful could have possibly seen so many bleak streets