along the sidewalk, coming awake to the sounds of the city: the whistle and grind of pipes, the tread-tread-tap of hundreds of commuters, the faint, piping aromas of coffee and doughnuts and fried foods, the grind of the opening food trucks-
The stench of garbage, the pitiful cries of the homeless, too many to count - the rush of humans, noisy and furious and abuzz with impatience, oblivious to the fellow sufferers around them. The wail of an infant.
For a moment, the sky is blue and bright and I think my heart will fly up, up above-
Then I move on, and the steel-trap jaws of the skyscrapers snatch it up.
This is my home. This is my life.
I
t h r e a d
among the crowd, never looking at faces, shoulders slumped, hurrying like the rest of the masses, mood foul and growing fouler. I am one with the mob.
Same day. Every day.
On the way to work.
Along the way, I stop, buy a black coffee. I am trying to go natural.
Black, bitter. Like my sleep. Like my trap, my tomb, my life.