I'm a Sensitive Guy

Walking down Court Street tonight,
I saw
	two guys walking down the street in hardhats (at midnight).
	a kitten sitting alone on the sidewalk (also at midnight).
	a guy eating a sub, cradling it in two hands as one would a newborn baby—one palm flat against its back, one under its bottom. His eyes were closed and his head rocked back and forth as he leaned forward and determinedly devoured it with a passion roughly equivalent to that of a fanboy devouring the latest Incredible Spiderman. He looked like he was making out with a pillow.
I smelled
	coffee,
	beer,
	and smoke, the staples of any decent Friday night.
I tasted
	the first sips of a Sprite I filled at the fountain while waiting for my own sub to be born. (Later, I held it lightly on my fingertips and ate a few bites at a time, putting it down periodically to man the controls as I checked to see if any of my friends had posted to their blogs. No, I swear I didn't make out with my sandwich.)
I felt
	the tip of the pinky toe of Old Man Winter. Or maybe it was Jack Frost's belly button lint. Either way, it's coming and I'm excited about it.
and I heard
	a soundtrack composed of Sting, Norah Jones, John Mayer, and a Korean band called Jadu, each adding their own commentary to Court Street.
	a handful of expletives (how is it that of all words, those are the ones that seem to always cut through the mix?)

Earlier in the day, I heard a guy praise someone's parallel parking as he watched them execute the manuever. He spoke through a loudspeaker, from his porch twenty feet back from the road.