Window Poem

I see a busy bank parking lot, where people half-jog in and out of the glass doors.
To the left there is a tightly packed street. Hundreds of worker bees move through the lights.
Today, it almost seems like there is a massive sense of urgency, like the street will disappear if the cars don't push through fast enough.
Sometimes, when it's late and the stoplight down the way starts flashing, you can almost imagine what it would be like if the world were deserted, robbed of any disease or humanity.
Rain pelts the pavement, and the clouds hover right above the street lights.
A homeless man pushes his way through the wind, his hand sheilding his eyes.
Still yet the cars hustle their way to their ever-important destinations, like blood through veins.

Off in the distance you can see a flash of light in the sky, and hear the powerful rumble of thunder.