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Mundane [Observatory] (Prose)
You don't know who you really are until you're walking in the city, in the crowd, in the rain.
Early July - there were eight of us, together and alone, footstep-by-footstep in tandem, our finish line only at the other end of the street. Our finish line, the twenty-story Hilton shining with its fresh coat of water, a mercurial pillar against the bright grey sky.
The rain collided in drumbeat on our cheap plastic ponchos, the mischievous wetness still reaching in when we moved our arms. Our shoes were soaked, but there wasn't any bitterness to the rain; we laughed about it, didn't we?
We were holding up traffic on the US 90, the eight of us. The long commute built by man, for man, was brought to a still just for a moment by the likes of us, travelers with a different destination but travelers all the same.
I remember this from time to time, when the raindrops start to change the color of the sidewalk just a shade and the crowd dissipates like mice in the light to shield themselves from the disastrous precipitation.
I remember the drumbeat and remember that we're all just travelers, aren't we. One mass, in motion, now and forever. In the city, in the crowd, in the rain.
Early July - there were eight of us, together and alone, footstep-by-footstep in tandem, our finish line only at the other end of the street. Our finish line, the twenty-story Hilton shining with its fresh coat of water, a mercurial pillar against the bright grey sky.
The rain collided in drumbeat on our cheap plastic ponchos, the mischievous wetness still reaching in when we moved our arms. Our shoes were soaked, but there wasn't any bitterness to the rain; we laughed about it, didn't we?
We were holding up traffic on the US 90, the eight of us. The long commute built by man, for man, was brought to a still just for a moment by the likes of us, travelers with a different destination but travelers all the same.
I remember this from time to time, when the raindrops start to change the color of the sidewalk just a shade and the crowd dissipates like mice in the light to shield themselves from the disastrous precipitation.
I remember the drumbeat and remember that we're all just travelers, aren't we. One mass, in motion, now and forever. In the city, in the crowd, in the rain.
Published 1st Jun 2014
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