This is a painting by Jackson Pollock

... entitled 'Autumn Rhythm (Nuber 30)'

One street continues on.
The other deadends.

The two streets form a T in shape, one street deadending into the other.
At the top of this intersection, this T, two gentlemen sit in comfort, in conversation, their perspective towards the deadending street. Their presence is humble, perhaps passive; the streets rampaging with the frantic passings of a mob decorated with their existence in a detached political system. The mob passes to and from an infinity of destinations of alluded importance and urgency, seemingly unaware of the gentlemen and their conversation. Their movements, their traffic, like Pollock's Autumn Rhythm.

The two groups - the mob and the gentlemen - exist in the same space, yet in different times:

The mob moves in a hectic blur as if each succeeding step is lost behind a curtain of confusion just as it is placed, just as it is drawn, just as it is painted. The flashes and trails of their wake, in an oblivious disregard, wrapping and warping, enveloping the snail-like movements of the gentlemen as they respectfully, humbly, and happily drag their cardboard boxes across the intersection following a patch of the sun's golden brilliance .