These Streets At Night

This late at night, these streets are empty.
Barren. Deserted. The bustle of the day forgotten.
All the stores are shuttered to refuse unwanted guests.

But there are signs - remnants of a living city.

All the trash cans are overflowing.
Scraps and filth are scattered across the sidewalk.
Was it there when the sun was high, and you just didn't notice because the streets were littered with people?

Bags are piled at the curb, cast off from the day's commerce.
When the wind picks up, it smells of garbage.
The street sweeper leaves a foul cloud in its wake.

Though few, there are other people on the street.

There are people loitering outside a bar.
Are they drinking their troubles away?
Or are they filling the evening with a rowdy din to fill the void within themselves?

The garbage truck trundles along.
The sanitation men collect the rubbish and haul it away from these streets.
No one appreciates their service.

There are people heading home from a long day, a late shift.
Weary-eyed and weary-paced.
Is there any sympathy for the price of their toil?

A vagrant sleeps on a bus stop bench.
Is everyone who passes by like me - paralyzed for human interaction?
Or is he just another piece of trash along the gutter?

Is everything on the street at night only refuse?