Not much imagination is needed to compare
A restaurant in the weeds to a battleground in the trenches
Wading through waves of antiseptic slosh to get to your next checkpoint
Milling around like frantic ants being smoked out of our livelihood
But are we just ants?
We're ants with DREAMS!!
Kris wants to be an actress on Broadway.
Jacob wants a few extra hours of sleep before he clocks into his day job.
Kyler just wants to make it back home in time to catch her girlfriend still awake so they can be
a family if only for just three hours.
To be working class to exist within the interstitial spaces of time.
Not yet asleep but not yet awake.
But always observing.
Countless people without homes scramble through bodegas and alleyways for a hint of welcome.
Dayfolk dipping their toes into the night to get a taste of the other sight before retreating to
their sunlit mattresses.
And me dancing between bubbles, distracting myself from more cosmic truths.
Plates stack like bills.
Bills stack like plates.
And I'm keeping my head above water.
But am I still the sharp tooth I thought I was?
Or am I ground down by the the 9-5 and 6-3?
Another casualty of a reckless market?