The girls walk by
high-heeled shoes
and tight jeans
cigarettes and perfume

Pseudo bad-boys drive
around on expensive
motorcycles that rumble
like thunder

Everyone pretends to
be somebody here
even the movie stars

And the waitresses
in miniskirts
counting tips
in their heads,
worry about their boyfriend’s
drug habit

2am and the boys
from the band
stumble out
of their van
order coffee and smoke cigarettes

watching the legs
of the waitress
who just wants
to go home

Everyone is from
somewhere else
in this city that’s really
a suburb

this place of dreams
that can quickly turn
into a nightmare

And once you wake
it’s best to slink on home

(D. James)