Y8 D22 - Observation

I took the train downtown just now to have dinner with a friend. On the train this couple got on. I wanted to beat them senseless. You could tell they worked for Nike. She had to be a project manager. Him, marketing or "business development" (whatever the fuck that is). They has a small child with them. All I could think was how fucking sterile and dead they were. His "storkbag" man bag diaper bag bullshit. Their Nike swoosh shirts and shoes (even the child who was about two). No makeup on her. She shops at free people and is involved in community issues. He had his skinny jeans and rubber watchband digital watch. Have they ever lived? Did they chase the dream of the house, the job, and the 2.5 children? Are they happy? Her eyes were dead and cold. They have sex once a week unless her "aunt Flo" is visiting (mandatory tee hee inserted here). Always missionary style. Just once he would like if she would stop worrying about leaving stains and just fucking relax. She wishes he would finally for once go down. But they say nothing to each other. They finish and then discuss whether to look at that new school for genderless named Alex. Their tattoo and piercing free pale skin whiter than usual under their eco friendly lightbulbs in their perfect house in just the same right neighborhood next to the whole foods where the grapes are always fair trade.

Once they got off the train, they were replaced by this guy by himself. He looked interesting. Not quite homeless looking but rough. He has lived. His eyes had life. The dirt under his nails told a story. He's been up and down. He knows the touch of a good woman and having to scrape tobacco out of butts to make a whole smoke. He knows. He will die having seen things. He was probably coming home from a 12 hour shift where he did real work that the Perfects would find beneath them. They would want to feed him and get him knew clothes. He says no because his clothes are his. They've been with him. He feels them. They have been washed maybe one too many times but they are comfortable and they fit his life.

I would rather be the second guy any day. I would rather be poor and a little beat up than dead inside. Some days I feel I am slipping towards the Perfects. I get afraid. I want some stability but I don't want to be not me. I want a roof over our heads. I want B to be secure but at what cost? What sacrifices must we make to fit into the United Corporate States of America? How much of my soul must I deposit? Is it FDIC insured?