THIS LUCKY DRIVER:

The Cafe Rose is empty beneath vulgar illuminations.
Lights low, lost it’s soul, beneath the railway lines.
Dirty rip, waiting on the corner, two men teeter in
heavy winter black, smoke curling from their mouths, grinning,
lean into each other over a crate of beer.
“Welcome to Berlin! This Lucky driver is your Taxi to Hotel”

(K)