The spirit beneath the flesh

[ZenitYerkes]

There he is. With a five o'clock shadow, uncombed hair -a mess of furious dark locks that seem like almost moving- a tie, a long red tie reaching the buckle of his leather belt and an abstent gaze. Paralized on his place, trembling as the subway train shakes.

Sitting by his side, a girl of no more than 20 years with a polyester jacket and more makeup than skin on his face. Red lips, strong scent she leaves everywhere she passes by, dark eyes fixed on the ceiling and lighbulbs. "A wh*re" you think.

"Look at those people, I'm sure they like this as much as I do" you add in your silent thinking "I at least I keep my mind away from the brainwashing and want to get out of here, unlike them, poor fellows; but how..."

And the black shadows of the tunnel turn the window in front of you into a looking glass; showing the picture of a person staring at the nothing, wearing wrinkled clothes, trembling as the train shakes.

Perhaps you're not so different to them.

Perhaps, you're not alone.