Words in winter, cold that clamps tight its jaws around the deepest parts of your bones. Every gust of wind slows your heart just a little more, and if you're not careful, you start wondering how much longer you can stay alive like this. Coffee cup freezing, fingers frozen, everybody shaking, and it looks like a world of constant smokers. And you finally understand why homeless people wear all of those hats.
Blue-tinted fingers writing on frost-brittle paper, so cold.
Slice-life advertisements, one side of the subway is covered withe the new lattes at Dunkin' Donuts, the other side is plastered with pictures of Dewar's Scotch Whiskey. Wake up, get on the train, go home at night on the same train, they're got everything planned out for you, get your donuts for breakfast, your whiskey for supper. Don't worry, we'll never make you think.
Trying not to stop and wonder where I'm going because the answer seems like it might very well be terrifying.
Really pushing with the coffee today, you can tell. The first cup of the day, left over from who knows when, bitter and cold and plain, making my stomach churn.
The second, grabbed just before getting on the train, sweet and creamy with added ingredients, barely coffee at all, but it makes me jittery.
And the third, hot and comforting, it will pull me through the heavy eyes and slow thoughts and today will be okay.
The light changes, the little walking man shines bright, and the mobs on either side of the street collide. It's like a miniature battle, like in those old war movies, where everybody just runs right into each other and nobody gives a damn about if they live or die.