It's peak hour, and at either side of the road, the pedestrians wait in anticipation of the green light which lets them hold sway over the road, their soft squishy bodies legally safe from the vehicles.

Red. Red. Red. Red. GREEN!

And in a swarm they surge forwards, like warriors on either side of a battlefield. The hounds of war released at the blow of a horn, the arc of a flag, the flash of a light. And where they meet there is a swirling, an elaborate dance where each side tries to avoid the other, tries to thread its way to safety. To make contact is to risk injury, much as it would be in war.

The dance repeats its dip and sway in regular cycles. Organic movement constrained by the mechanical rules of the lights. An easy task when the numbers are but few, but a tense set of maneuvering and social mumblings of pleasantries when the throngs build up.