Don't call me "buddy"

Chichi scanned the shop fronts:
“Presbyterian”, “Lutheran”, “Alimony”, “Pay stubs”, “Masculinity”,
and she peered down at the green dolphins swimming below the crystal surface,
and the rippling images below crawled across her skin,
like fire ants, burning,
shaking her heart and lending a restlessness to her day dreams.
She wanted to leave the market-place, but the dark tress beyond
Could only be reached through an impenetrable barrier of blind crowds
And searing oil frying the day’s catch.
She tried to pry open her mouth with her fingers
To let her escape and run free.
And the sky was a dun-grey shade.
Somebody would have to break the dam and flood the village she mused openly.
And people laughed and breathed in the smog.
Tear-stains from yesterday amplified the crinkles of their upturned mouths.
I would like to be outside of here.