Wasted

"...I have since wondered if there is something about the city that clicks with people like me....fosters the hunger for power and success to such a degree that the people themselves become hollow....sucked dry of simple humanity. It surprised but did not bother me how naturally nastiness came to me. I liked the palpable proximity to speed and power, within spitting distance of the real world. I could almost reach a hand out and touch it, this nameless thing I wanted so badly.
The strange thing is, the poems I wrote while I was there are all about the sadness of cities. The desperation I sensed. The incredible, terrible speed.
I decided I could live here just fine.
No one even noticed me.
I was invisible.
It was perfect.
We all went zipping down the streets, our separate and anonymous ways, squinting in the sudden light....past the flower vendors, the fruit vendors, the hotdog and pretzel stands, past the cafés and the shops, and the park where men slept on benches with newspapers over their faces, past the men asleep on the grates in the sidewalk where steam rose like a belch from the belly of the city, past the women with signs and tin cups, crouched up against buildings, below eye level.
Everyone was gauging the distance between here and there, avoiding eye contact, swinging briefcases in sharp arcs, clutching purses to hips, walking that walk.
I perfected that walk in short order.
You walk as fast as possible, even if you're only going to the store for a cup of coffee, even if you're going nowhere in particular, even if you're early for work. You walk as if you're going to be late. You are definitely going to be late, for a very important date, and because you are all trying to look important, you walk as if it is important that you not be late because there are things waiting for your important consideration when you get there, because the city will come to a stand-still if you are even a split second late.
You keep your face blank.
You do not smile and you do not frown.
You look straight ahead, 
you don't notice the bums you step over without breaking your stride, nor the fruit vendor who waves to you everyday as you pass. You smile a shy smile and say hi, and then straighten your face again and keep your thoughts to yourself and keep going.

Because you are essentially just a small town girl lost in a big city,
and it always makes you want to cry."




-Marya Hornbacher

La vie d'amour, le style d'Amour, l'Amour toujours