What's Unusual About This Street?

What's unusual about this street? Well, nothing? Unless you've been locked in a time machine Or a bookmark in between the covers of a H. G. Wells book. No, nothing's changed. Intrinsically you might as well have been standing there- Chain-smoking, woodbines since 1969 no- Nothing is ever-changing take a good look, look. There's a clapped-out white Lada; it's got no gleam But compared to what's around it sure looks clean. There's uncollected rubbish, piled about, knee-high And a dishevelled woman ravishing her cold meat pie. She's not one bit bothered about the city waste or the flies Some people here have become accustomed to feeling lost They've forgotten all about hard-earned pride Look now they're mingling in with the street pigeons Who's become like long-forgotten relatives? Relatives they care for like diseased grandparents. But this street this tired old battered and bruised street Doesn't show any signs it cares for them. But hold on- A moment there is something new now in the city's streets Yes, just look around they're congested, but honestly, Not by cars, but by overweight people, on mobility scooters.