We greeted a multitude one person at a time. On Islands made of stone between opposing currents of two-ton metal fish, where colors flash in the sky; red, amber, green of circles, numbers and arrows, and the noise never cease; a microclimate of organized chaos. Upon these islands exist a type of humankind that can become another part of the scenery, or something to challenge one’s perception. Hungry, hardened, weary and wary of this life, these people pace up and down their tiny concrete islands, looking for a crack in the commuters’ career veneer for a crumb of pity. For all of their years and experiences, here they are with signs to speak for them, at the mercy of our whim.