Around the corner, down the street
 who knows just what you'll find.
I often head on down that way
 when I wish to unwind.

A vendor might set up a cart,
 selling divine munchies,
or philosophers might hold court:
 wannabe Socrates.

Or there are those days of muggers,
 or when painted girls flirt,
or when the somnambulist roams 
 in sleep, sans a nightshirt.

The city never lacks chaos:
 always something to see.
Sometimes it pulls one forward;
 sometimes it makes one flee.