He peered through the big window onto the streets below. The dark blue shade of early morning melted away near street lights which shone like candles in the ocean. Few cars and people moved though the streets and sidewalks, appearing only as shadows in the darkness. The scent of sweet coffee slowly polluted the air and the first light of the morning spewed through the crevices of skyscrapers and churches and statues, creating shadows miles long.
It’s been eight years, the man thought to himself, the city has never really recuperated. They’re strong, but strength alone won’t cut it.
He was ready and dressed for work. He felt very patriotic for this day wearing a red work shirt with a white collar and a blue tie crowded with small white stars. He left his apartment and went down the elevator.
Empty elevator…typical, he thought as he listened to the music in the elevator: a soft, yet vibrant and awe inspiring symphony, as if a conglomerate of people were making a final stand against an oppressive and tyrannical government. Violins and pianos definitely deliver a great aura through its melody.
Upon exiting the elevator and building, he noticed that more people and vehicles populated the streets which created a loud and busy street. A light draft raced through the streets, spreading cool air. The man shivered slightly, but the warmth of the sun soon pressed against his face, ensuing in a fire in his eyes.
On his way to work, he noticed many people who appeared rather astute and alert, more than usual at least. The metro was always an easy target for attack, whether on this day or any other.
He hated his job. Office life is too easy, there’s no serious business other than the criminal kingpins and their friends on Wall Street. But apparently the police don’t clean that one street. Even then, there are the simple tasks, time and time again, the annoying people constantly acting like idiots, but I can’t imagine them acting any other way.
The man was a cynic and a stoic. His abjuration for the masses, majority and common was a priority to him. He’d never be part of the mob and have their mentality, though he understood their strength in numbers. But I guess that’s really all America is: just one big mob with factions within itself. Ethnicity, religion, education, gender, whatever; every family is dysfunctional, whether the wryness is hidden or not. Physical strength isn’t really much different than spiritual strength or mental strength. Every person has at least one thing, but no one person has everything.
