The five-o-clock sun
In white-hot Parry's corner.

You make your way
Into Linghi Chetty Street
Jostling with young and so-called senior lawyers
Carrying bright black robes folded in two
And clutched tight at their left elbows.

Families on the pavement
Rickshaw-pullers (all men),
Fruit-sellers (all women)
And vendors of various knick-knacks
Who scream hoarse
To people walking across with tired faces
And a restless energy they suck out of the world.