By: Lauren Clauss
I sit and stare out the bus window.
We drive through the Financial District, Chinatown, SoHo,
and see all the people existing in this crowded space on the muggy September day.
It’s Tuesday morning- where are they going?
I make up stories for them to entertain myself:
the woman in the suit who just exited the subway at Chambers Street is going to the dentist
before returning to her ritzy office job on Wall Street;
that young man on a Citi Bike is going to class, his backpack only hanging on by one-strap
as if he has no care for the items inside;
that family is here on vacation, they are seeing the famous SoHo shopping scene and
contributing to its continued existence as overpriced faux New Yorker lifestyle seller.
These people don’t really matter though-
well they do to the world, but not to me.
Their presence helps me kill time and ignore the guilt of existing.
When I give them mundane stories it helps me feel better
about being mundane in this city of excitement.
I have not earned my space here, but they haven’t either
so it’s ok that I’m here today.
Tomorrow I will go through the same motions,
justifying my existence based on the existence of others.
But we all do, in one way or another.
At least that’s how I justify it.