Odilia Rivera Santos
The announcement might have been broadcast from the moon, so we stand idly.
Helpless commuters who paid a fare with the promise that they would get us there -- the new motto should be Why be Normal?
It is rush hour but there's no rush. They mess with our ability to get with the program and be on automatic, which is safe. Being on automatic is what really gets us there.
Instead, we wait all dressed up, stood up by our collective prom date.
The freshness of our clothes and vigor for the workday diminishing by the minute.
RUSH! DON'T THINK!
When dedication to the here and now is not natural, it loses momentum easily and you begin to dream: an early movie, loosening the tie or ties, slipping off the medium-size comfort heels that you only wear for work and on with the sloppy boots with a torn sole.
Although we can't return to subsistence farming, we can skip the commute through discarded lives and a stench to rival that of any third world slum.
Scamper up and out into the day with a sigh and relieved to not be at the mercy of whoever manipulates your ability to follow through with your workday, whoever wakes you from the somnambulist state that would get you there, so now, you are left dreaming for real.
On the upside outside, the early morning shimmers against a brand new luxury hotel and reflects an orange light -- a light that reminds you of that winter years ago when we strolled through Central Park, behaving like tourists in the land of the working.
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