They are colourless against the pavement.
They hold no reflection in the glass.
I see through them all like tights stretched thin.
Their edgeless shapes merging into one unspectacular presence; just a fog, just pockets of denser air.

They are pigeons of unremarkable grey.
Beaks hung open with sound falling out.
Rodents of the sky.

Rodents of the street;
Scurrying, hurrying,
Noses twitching with the scent of something more.
Tightly weaved bodies of unremarkable grey.

They are ghosts to me, outlines where people should be;
The chalk outline at a crime scene.
They fade from my vision.
I see the wall behind them through their heads.

The lights are dimmed inside their eyes.
Their skin melts into their uniforms.
I see through them all like dirty windows;
splashed with unremarkable grey.