In the window

A gloomy winter evening in the city.A shabby desolate street litby a lonely streetlight, its cover withered, its light bulb giving out.Scattered garbage – foliage covers the pavement: cigarette stubs, newspaper shreds, smashed beer bottles, and an unfinished hamburger –all a kaleidoscope of human misery and defeat. A dark-brick house, wrapped in graffiti art,hides warily in the corner, its windows dark,some panes broken, some shut with fractured wooden panels.I look at it curiously, sadly, and suddenlynotice the only brightly-lit square in the center. There, in the middle of the crammed living roomTwo little girls in simple school dresses aredancing, jumping, laughing, singing,their brown curly locks flying, their bodies moving in the lovely rhythm, their hands locked together in an eternal bond,as they whirl round and round, round and round, round and round. **** The light changes and the bus speeds up,leaving behind the house, the street, the city.