Man in shorts, on Market Street, carefully carrying full cup of takeout coffee without a lid, NOT TODAY SATAN

Man walking down my street at dusk, with two glowing red lights on his forehead. He nods when I say “Good evening.”

Woman on Fairmount Avenue: SMOKE WEED HAIL SATAN. “She’s probably a Juggalo,” says my young friend. “It’s possible, but I collect t-shirts,” I say.

Five women in identical gray wigs and glasses, darting together along the sidewalk.

Man on bus, on Girard Avenue, to acquaintance: “My liver is failing.”

Another man, repeating, “I have a broken foot,” as he gets off the bus.

Man, pushing stroller on Frankford Avenue, quietly: “Fee fi fo fum.” (Yes, there was a toddler in the stroller. I checked.)