Pried open the paint-sealed shutter, whores below flirt in the gutter,
From the fire escape stepped a black-clad dude with a sack from the bodega store;
No sound when moving made he; now says he needs a church key;
Just like he owned the place, he guarded my apartment door—
Said he came up from Dallas, keeping watch at my door—
Grabbed a chair and sat, and nothing more.
Where did the science in sci-fi go? It's back — inTime Pullers