The Things That The City Tells Us

Inside the train, the bodies are still. Everyone is rushing home, hoping to catch what everybody else will be watching on TV. Strangers avoid each other’s stares, thinking the same thoughts. Outside the tinted windows, large squares of imposed ideals are lit brightly. The same brand of age-defying cream sits inside an old woman’s plastic bag. The girl beside her wears the very pair of shoes that overlook the highway. She is thinking of the man in the picture. He smiles at her through the camera lens and poses for the rest of the world.

The train speeds past. Nobody takes note yet they all remember. The brand names go on the shopping lists, usually never tried nor tested. They believe the ladies that smile and the hunks that stare. They hold the truths, the ones who can afford the size and height over everyone else. These are the things that the city tells us, we take it all in and believe.

In a moment, everyone is exactly where they should be, thinking exactly what they should, knowing just about enough of the rest of the world. Their thoughts are to themselves, like everybody else. The doors slide open to give way for people to move in and out. The train moves through the city. One path, back and forth, never-changing. The same view blurs past empty stares. Inside, everyone is still. 

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