Monday, September 19, 2005

As I walk to work each day

As I walk to work each day, I see many faces, many cuts of clothing, many asses, many strides. Scowlers and lawyers and daydreamers, maybe each is all at sometime, but on their way to work they are one thing or another. Some of my fellow Pittsburghers walk along at ease, and some hurry toward whatever task drives them from bed each morning. I wonder as I pass the men and women in their pea green scrubs what disaster they are coming from and which they leave. It's hard to tell if the people going home as I go to work, a different direction on the same bus, are worn out or just tired, but having been both, I wish them the latter.

Pittsburgh has a a lot of big butts, and that's probably not terribly true when compared with the national average, but yes on an international scale. And so I wonder if the people with the smaller butts are happier or going to better jobs, or if the fat, overweight, obese and chubby have it better. If my current trend continues, I hope it is the latter.

What's his story, the drunk guy sprawled out in front of Penn Station. And the woman whose breasts are bunched together with orange lace, and a sheer sweater, before 8 in the morning? She must have a sexy job. I wish I had that lawyer's suit -- I bet it wasn't cheap. Do I get to bill $500/hour if I get one? Do I get the woman in the orange lace? I'd prefer the former.

How many of these people love? Smoke? Drink coffee? Complain? Watch Friends?

Do I care? Do they share?

1 comment:

Celanie Polanick said...

Kudos to you, sweetheart, for being interested in strangers. Now you know how I feel.
My roommate, Josh, likes to think about strangers' sex habits. I like to think about what they're afraid of, the secret panics that haunt their dreams.
When I'm tromping down the street with an armload of books, panicking about something, I shoot jealous glances at the people I pass as they happily go about their business — it's just a normal day for them, not a red-letter one filled with shame and dread. And when I'm calmly riding the bus or making copies of something, and there's some guy with pink eyeballs racing through the library with a crushed armload of crumpled papers, I smile to myself: as long as we screw up one at a time, we are all okay.