Or am I? I don’t know anymore. In a place where success is happily purchasing $4 toast and paying $3,000 a month for a 400-square-foot apartment with shared laundry facilities, I’m beginning to question the sanity of those around me more so than my own.
Still, what’s wrong with me that I don’t want what they want? Or do I? I don’t know anymore.
In a place where I dodge shady glances and human shit on the sidewalk, am I the crazy one for wanting out? Or are you so uncomfortable in your own skin that you need to wear the skin of someone…no, everyone else. Or am I? I don’t know anymore.
And as I quickly divert my eyes before the 1.5-second mark where you determine I’m a threat to you on public transportation, I try to see if you’re human. If that person is. Or maybe that one. But all eyes quickly dodge to nothingness, to a phone screen, to a PETA advertisement on the train wall spray-painted with the word “shit”…all to avoid the humanity in each others’ eyes that we simply cannot ignore yet we choose to deny so readily.
I know nothing anymore.