M A R
28 City Insanity
Big cities like Tokyo, Sydney, Jakarta, London and New York City share nothing but a similarity — city insanity.
It was late at night. 10:30 PM? Felt more like 12 o’clock midnight. The streets were still occupied by people like it was a usual workday. Being on an Uptown R train did not help a bit, the feeling of yearning for a solitude did not stop pumping. What was it with this city?
A slight glance of a young man in bright yellow knitted pants with double-layered t-shirts underneath a jersey jacket did nothing but added an intensity to the head. Music kept coming out of his gigantic golden headphones. At the same time, a woman sitting next to him, constantly talking to him. They were related, that was for sure. With his Afro dreadlocks and her speech in Spanish — it was like in Bahamas, mama!
Getting off for a transfer at the 34th stop, could not help but observe an old man swinging a stick as if swinging a golf club in the middle of the transfer platform. He was in his own world — a world of eighteen-hole course.
A speed walk to another platform was not quite effective, knowing there was a shadow and heavy steps following behind. Was there not an adequate space in between? Then it was a sudden stop to let him go first. Pfftt!
Thank Dalai Lama, the train finally came after a lengthy wait with a foursome of Reggae musicians, not playing in harmony. It sounded more like an Acid.
A thought of getting away from the peculiar side of the city suddenly disappeared with a hazy sight of a bearded man in a beret talking to noone but the subway window, cursing at the city for being there.
After a long break with the Daily News, there was a shout in the back. There he was standing with a green plastic bag, trying to converse with the whole crowd in the subway car. He admitted of being too drunk to even be among the commuters or rather night-crawlers.
A bitter old man sitting across responded by claiming himself as an undercover cop. Meanwhile, a strong odor of Jack Daniel’s was coming out of his mouth at the peak of his little speech. A man could wish.
...and I thought it was your regular Saturday night.
28 City Insanity
It was late at night. 10:30 PM? Felt more like 12 o’clock midnight. The streets were still occupied by people like it was a usual workday. Being on an Uptown R train did not help a bit, the feeling of yearning for a solitude did not stop pumping. What was it with this city?
A slight glance of a young man in bright yellow knitted pants with double-layered t-shirts underneath a jersey jacket did nothing but added an intensity to the head. Music kept coming out of his gigantic golden headphones. At the same time, a woman sitting next to him, constantly talking to him. They were related, that was for sure. With his Afro dreadlocks and her speech in Spanish — it was like in Bahamas, mama!
Getting off for a transfer at the 34th stop, could not help but observe an old man swinging a stick as if swinging a golf club in the middle of the transfer platform. He was in his own world — a world of eighteen-hole course.
A speed walk to another platform was not quite effective, knowing there was a shadow and heavy steps following behind. Was there not an adequate space in between? Then it was a sudden stop to let him go first. Pfftt!
Thank Dalai Lama, the train finally came after a lengthy wait with a foursome of Reggae musicians, not playing in harmony. It sounded more like an Acid.
A thought of getting away from the peculiar side of the city suddenly disappeared with a hazy sight of a bearded man in a beret talking to noone but the subway window, cursing at the city for being there.
After a long break with the Daily News, there was a shout in the back. There he was standing with a green plastic bag, trying to converse with the whole crowd in the subway car. He admitted of being too drunk to even be among the commuters or rather night-crawlers.
A bitter old man sitting across responded by claiming himself as an undercover cop. Meanwhile, a strong odor of Jack Daniel’s was coming out of his mouth at the peak of his little speech. A man could wish.
...and I thought it was your regular Saturday night.
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