THE DUCK LADY OF CENTER CITY PHILADELPHIA She clings to her bags of rags as she waddles through the smelly-haze of another late rush-hour hustle. She wears a long-sleeved, long white dress stained and feathered with dirty layers of colored sweaters safe on her body. The herd of suits, silk ties, leather shoes and designer attire steer around invisible boundaries that define her space. She quacks at the passersby -- quack quack fuck off goodbye and delights with her chomp into scraps of franks and fries snatched in a flash from a curbside gift of some kid's discarded lunch. Shadows grow as the day's glow greets the evening's neon lights as she hauls her day's booty to her secret nest - an abandoned piano box seated in perfect fit over a warm subway vent.