An abandoned theatre,

One, Two, Three Cinemas,

But not enough for the buzzing crowds.

They have moved on to busier venues.

And as they move out, I move in,

Into the parking lot at least.

And we sell our wares.

We wash the windows left behind

For the poor folk that rent in the dilapidated part of town.

How I love abandoned, broken, things.

How I love the fertile soil

From which springs

Abundance,

And not the type

That demands your soul,

The abundance that falls into your lap for a song.