Under crimson morning, the city’s daily symphony began with the gradually intensifying sound of motors and klaxons. Of people’s feet tapping on stairs, of hands slamming car doors, of blood rushing to their heads. People pass by; nothing in their stomachs; chaos in their minds. Oftentimes with unironed shirts or bloodshot eyes.
In sweltering daylight, through small alleys in suburban quarters, children out and about in school uniforms, their phones at 90° angles. Their eyes fixated — did not blink, their ears deaf — did not listen, and their mouth — boundless cusses. Believing that winning those games means realizing their puerile ambition of world domination.
Over buzzing twilight, millennials splurge their lifestyle over a single night or on a gym membership they never attend. Middle-aged men start to assemble their food stalls, taking over sidewalks, coopting rights with nearby pedestrians. Motorcycles slip through the tiniest gaps. Millions of ground dwellers jostle, fighting to improve their lives; fiery competition of the metropolis.
Now it is close to midnight. As I start to slumber along with the hums of distant noise, I wonder if many of their souls are hollow. No ambition; no passion; no reason; mere automaton. Under thin blanket, I envelop my bolster tight to reminisce how it felt like to hug someone so deep until I drown in the blackest of dreams — only to eventually wonder if mine is hollow too.
