Bronx story

twenty four minutes into Yasujiro Ozu’s masterpiece or is it twenty eight it’s all i could take switched over to the news back home another jobless guy tried to jump what dissuaded him not to off quezon bridge in quiapo the news reader racked by a coughing fit drained me had to go out to get coffee it’s half past six in the evening and the strings of sunlight bounces from the terra cotta tiles clinging to the tiredest building in the block hoping for some freshening up an incongruous pile of grey stones in front of the coffee house sponging off the remaining daylight