In that road raveled by swift feet and roving eyes the mannequins still and frozen look on unfazed.

On their perches and slightly elevated stands, they stare wearing faint but sly smiles on their unchanging faces. Decorated, white skinned and brown haired they’re an odd contrast to the crowds that pour through the streets. Some that are naked, pitch black, bald, and without any facial features are being shuffled around by men. Their faces are turned and in that direction they stare an eyeless stare.

One has silver hair and a broken nose with cracks becoming mosaic. A few in suits and backs against the wall guard the dust covered entrance to a shop. Gold glitters on hands, chests and necks behind dusty glass. The crowds thin and slow along side these appendages which are always black in color. One bust ends at the nose, just enough to include a sly smile.

A standoff between unarmed torsos runs from either end of another shop.  No one sees them, no one wonders and tries to follow the slanted gaze of those mannequins that look out to… something, something far away. They rattle with the traffic, long before the crowds take notice of screeching horns. But they never move,never tire of their stares. What are those plastic Venus de Milo’s smiling about anyway?