The tram of dispossessed

Around 4 am morning, when I was on my
way home from running, I stopped at the
zebra cross; the tram four passed me; its
windows were like a slow-motioned movie,
every frame contained homeless people;
they were sleeping, and their heads were
hidden in their jackets; they looked like
frailed birds in the opened crypt; which
was their safe cage in this cold; the only
place where they could find a bit of peace
and nobody tried to distress them. It was
an absurd but touching negative mirror,
and it presented a miserable life and that
heartless world we ought to love so much.