There’s the dream. And then there’s the reality.
The dream is that you can survive the concrete jungles of New York. The reality is that you’re another part of the rat pack, rushing from Brooklyn and New Jersey to midtown.
The rat race never ends.
Even those who start as far away as New Haven begin a jam into different species. Everyone is a stranger.
The quiet car contains opposites. It goads the loudest minds.
Stepping off into Grand Central Terminal is the great equalizer. You have no choice but to join the frenzy.
Strolling faster than anyone else, you’d think you’re getting ahead. But only for a spare moment. Someone else has clipped your wings. Who do you think you are, anyway?
Spare some change, sink at the moment. Time alludes you. The day is one big drop, a flash drive of memories.
Into the City and back out again, only to do it all over tomorrow.
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