Truth be told

 He'd had enough of mainstream America, the countless herds of people jockeying their way through the crowds to arrive with minutes to spare at a job he hated. There were a few smiles on the streets, and all eyes looked away, not wanting a confrontation this early in the morning. He wasted precious time communing outside the city on two buses and a subway ride from hell. Punks who should be in school roam from car to car, taunting everyone just trying to get to work. He tried to intervene one time, but a knife was no match for his empty hands. The tip of the blade penetrated his shirt, leaving a blood stain as a kind soul reached into her purse and came to him with a small first aid box, which she used to patch him up for the time being.

The office where he had worked for eighteen years had left a scar on his soul. The sounds of computer keyboards clicking away like a beat for a lousy song, endless pots of coffee always brewing and tasting like dishwater, stale donuts, and rotting food in the breakroom fridge. Lunch enabled him to go outside to sit on a bench covered with graffiti, mainly gang tags and words that should never be written except at the gates of hell. A thousand cigarettes were snuffed out by workers late for returning to their jobs.

The rides home on buses and trains were a blur of colored graffiti on any structure not yet tagged. Empty trash cans remained empty, as it was easier to just drop your garbage wherever you wanted to. He was grateful he got home just before the darkness of night brought out the worst of the worst. Robbery, rape, assault, they all came out at night scoring drugs of choice, vomiting in any alley dark enough where remnants of used needles and homemade pipes scattered around the filth of what was once a beautiful city.

Life is about change, and most change is good. At least, that's how I like to remember it as I hide my face in a newspaper I've already read twice.

Mike 2024