City

Written in week 2 of the CRP:

The city makes me feel like a poet. There are so many things to see and feel, observe. It overloads my senses and makes me want to put down thick imagery of sights and sounds. I have all these silly ideas, puns, run on sentences; I have this urge to use long words in cliched tones. And my thoughts sprout from my mind as rambling theories, questions, ponderings.

On the train, hundreds of people pack together, rushing to get home. Hundreds of people who don't know each other spend halves of hours brushing shoulders and grazing hands or tapping backs and twisting legs. A woman backs into me and we stand butt to butt as if nothing is wrong. I spend ten minutes breathing on a man's hand as he grips the metal hand railing in front of me while I feel hot puffs of air on my neck as someone else breaths on me.

It's a feeling unique to the city, I think. That feeling of being completely alone in the world mixed with a camaraderie that comes from shared experiences. No one talks to each other, except to say sorry and excuse me. No one makes eye contact except to smile forgiveness. During the rush hour train ride, everyone is a stranger and everyone is a friend... or at least friendly.

The city and I have a love/hate relationship...