(no subject)
Story 1:
“There are times where I would do anything to find acceptance in this group of pseudo friends. They are all so wrapped up in their superficial bullshit that they do not even realize what they have they can’t find the time to step back and actually notice the fact that they have their lives handed to them on silver platters. I am so sick of living this fake life with these fake people. I have got to do something about this because it is making me very unhappy… I have to go. We will finish this conversation later.” Mary hung up the phone, grabbed her jacket and went for a long drive to no place in particular.
Story 2:
I walked into the bar, and off the bat, I counted five people wearing red shirts. I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember, I have counted things. I have always been pretty observant, and tonight was no different. The patrons of this particular bar looked similar to what I had imagined; it is always easy to gauge the crowd based on the type of music that they listen to. Tonight, the [insert demographic] crowd was in full effect.
Story 3:
I walked into her apartment, and I could tell that her entire life was a soundtrack. My eyes caught the band posters - she had so many band posters. When I asked her why, she said that every time she went to a show and bought the band’s album, she felt it necessary to document the evening with a poster, for sentimental purposes. She intrigued me. She took my hand and led me to the bus stop.
Story 4:
Every time I board the el, I can rely on the fact that I will find people from all walks of life. The most obvious are the homeless, who sit on the el because it offers protection from the outside; to them, this is home. The pretentious business people stand away from the homeless; they pretend that they are too good to sit down in the seats, but the truth is that they are afraid of the accumulated dirt and grime from the other passengers. The various students can be spotted making their way to and from school sitting in the seats, paying hectic attention to their textbooks. My favorite of the passengers are those who come up with scams to make an easy buck - I saw a woman who had a brain problem one day and five hungry children the next. The tourists are easy to pick out because of their various maps and their occasional requests for directions; the tourists usually give the scammers handouts with sympathetic eyes. It is a wonder to me that these people find themselves crammed together every day. To an outsider, it seems as if the el is the only thing they have in common.
Story 5:
I was at a party for a woman who was once buried alive. She was rescued after some time, after her loved ones had lost hope. Being a participant in this party was completely surreal; no one knew what to say because everyone was so overcome with emotion. She had overcome the odds and now there was a chance to begin an entirely new life. My thoughts were overpowered with total confusion. I decided to leave the party and take a walk into the dark night - the transition would be easy.