“Although the river and its people share the past, on this afternoon, the burden seems unevenly placed. The man whose socks are drying on the concrete can rest in peace knowing that his story has ended.”
“The brush strokes the bottom of the eyelid first, then the center, then the edge. The tip of the eyeliner presses against skin that, with time, will begin to hold creases that resemble hers.”
“we do not speak anymore, this person whose bed I slept in one night. seeing you reminds me of how childlike I felt, and I refuse to feel that frightened anymore.”
“At the edge of Jersey City is a field of black dirt. For one stretch of the field, two rows of thin, yellow shrubs run along an idle road, planted without any intention for longevity.”
“I have never been able to understand why Americans need to make sure trailing traffic knows that they voted for Clinton, alternatively want to put Clinton in jail, or just really want to highlight the difference between heritage and racism.”
There is a certain passivity and convenience embodied both in the physical experience of train riding and in the indifferent machines themselves. Suspended between origin and destination: mandated leisure.
“My eyes darted between the two security cameras on the roof. Despite feeling cynical lately about the effectiveness of government, I had a feeling that these cameras were both working and monitored around the clock. I felt so patriotic.”
I’m always quick to spell out or clarify my name when it’s asked for. Call it my preemptive strike against the flicker of uncertainty in the barista’s eyes or the note of hesitation in the agent’s voice.
