Bradley pushed through the crowd of incoherent revelers and security guards to arrive at work by midnight. The ball dropped, 2000 pounds of confetti floated, people stumbled home.
Alcohol-soaked streamers covered his push-broom. He’d get a bonus if they cleared the streets by 8am, enough to fix his cello and audition in Manhattan. Enough to pay his rent this month. Most of it anyway.
Talib Kweli thumped through his earbuds as he hurled another pair of black waste bags into the truck. The soles of his second-hand work boots glittered silver and gold in the predawn glow.