My stranger on a train. I make up stories about you as we click-clack across the city, pulses of blood along veins of industry and commerce. One huge beating, pumping city and you and I are single celled. Red blood going in. Blue blood coming out at 5:30pm. How was your day? Do you enjoy what you do? Do you pretend to enjoy what you do? Who do you love? Do they kiss the sweat from your forehead? Do they whisper in your ear? How do you take your coffee? This is my stop. I’ll see you tomorrow.
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1 comment:
single serving friends, thats all they are. just a formality to inquire and than ingrained to care long enough for them to ask about you. its really quite pathetic if you ask me.
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