This isn’t my commute anymore…

This isn’t my commute anymore, but my next post prompted this:
We were little humans, hidden on streets, overshadowed by tall buildings touching the sky. We swam through crowds crashing like waves, following stairs found in gaps in concrete, and dropped in and out of a whole world underground. We sprinted to trains, squeezed into subway cars, forcing closeness amongst strangers who didn’t expect polite speech — as the doors threatened to squash us instead. I used to tell visitors: it’s not that we’re rude; we’ve just attended an unspoken sermon that deemed small talk larger than a New York minute. Sometimes eye contact was sufficient, it said more than words could try. Sometimes avoiding eye contact was the language of survival… These snapshots trigger memories that survive in my mind (1/2)…

nyc 2

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