MTA Breeze

MTA Breeze:
5:15AM Bus

Little tiny crescent moon so out of place among these buildings comprised of McDonalds and malls in this city that no longer cares to carry young people. The beautiful crescent follows me to work with peaks of sunrise so gently rising up from the east. A little breeze of fresh air sneaks in through a slightly cracked open window and cools my face. It almost makes this bus ride worthwhile. This little breeze starts me thinking. How come nobody writes songs about taking the bus? Is the train really that much more romantic? I would write one if I could write songs.

Chunky Mexican guy slugs his tiny coffee usually in the first seat or sometimes standing before he swipes his metro card. Today he drank it in the little park while we all waited for the shining lights to come around the bend. Little old lady uses a small silver comb to brush her bangs back. She smokes by the way. She has a green sometimes yellow rubber band on her glasses attaching the string that keeps them around her neck. She reads the paper—something my generation has sadly missed. She sits in the same seat every day; today I sit next to her. Usually the same people are here, but there are always some new comers. People look surprisingly alert. Are they morning people? Are they on their way home or to work? It’s so early that the body is tricked into thinking it took an epic nap rather than suffering from a lack of good night’s sleep. Asian girl with extremely plain clothes and a large red bag hops on and sits in her usual seat. A number of people are on the phone. Who could they be talking with this early in the morning? It’s the curious world of people who are awake at ungodly hours. I wonder if they take a mental note of this wonderful breeze.

Little breeze, then I remember where I am going, and I am tired. Fuck you NY. I’ve done nothing but love you, and now you’re pushing me out. That’s fine. We’ll leave. The lost generation will head out and leave you with your debt and aging population that won’t be able to sustain itself in 20 years without us. Keep your jobs and your fucking apartments. I pity the handful of young people that can make it here in what is to be a living old folks’ home. I take comfort in the fact that this tiny little crescent moon will follow me wherever I wind up.